


Alpha, Mage, Pack

by Foxfire2018



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, BAMF Danny, BAMF Stiles, Danny Mahealani & Stiles Stilinski Bromance, Derek is a partial failwolf, Developing Love, Emotional Turmoil, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Eventual Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Protective Danny, Protective Stiles, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott is a Bad Friend, Sheriff Stilinski Knows About Werewolves, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Slow Burn, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Stiles is Pushed Out of the Pack, Tortured Stiles Stilinski, learning to love, lots of misunderstandings, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-05-05 07:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 346,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14613171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxfire2018/pseuds/Foxfire2018
Summary: Set at the end of Season 2. Stiles was kidnapped and tortured for hours. Yet no one came for him. Hurt and cast out of the pack by people he thought cared for him, what is he to do? He finds himself accompanied by someone he never expected and someone he is eternally grateful for.Derek feels betrayed and foolish for what he allowed to happen. Out of anger and hurt he forced a valuable member he really started to care for out of his pack.With the pack scattered and people hurt, what will come of them? Will they bond together again in time for the next big bad?





	1. Darkness in Many Forms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!! For starters this fic is in dedication to another and I give a big shout out to Littleredridinghunter! It goes without saying that there may be some similarities but this is a new fic and I am taking it in a whole new direction. Littleredriding set the stage and I’m giving full twist. Warning!!! This will be gritter and darker than the story you may know. Hope you all enjoy!  
> Stiles is hurt and facing trauma that he never thought he would. But it is just the beginning. His night has just begun. What can he do? Can he help himself? Can he save his friends, or even his own skin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a new fic for me yall. I love the original idea of Stiles being more traumatized by his kidnapping that it was lead to believe. So let's see how he fares in this, the pack as well.  
> Another shout out to littleredriding for paving the way, I love how their story starts and I couldn’t change it much, so go check it out!  
> What will happen to them all? I already love writing this story and it's going to be filled with a lot of angst and a lot of violence. I hope to convey a darker, gritty tone to the series. I hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you think and feel free to comment!! :)

He hated time. Even though he lost track of it, he hated it. He suspected he was here for hours. Yet it felt like days. Every single second seemed to tick by unbelievably slowly. The only thing that he could use to count time was the number of seconds it took for each drop of blood to fall from his face towards the concrete floor below. So yeah, he didn't just hate time, but at this moment he despised it.

His head was slumped downward making it more painful since his head felt like it was splitting open. His arms above his head, bound by a set of handcuffs and chains locked to a large pipe above running on the ground floor. He tried not to move his hands much, but the numbness was causing his fingers to twitch automatically, making the muscles in his hands move with them. Each little movements caused his already sore, raw, bloody wrists to rub against the metal of the cuffs even more. Just one more bit of torture inflicted on his shirtless body from the bastards before him. 

He was sure hours had passed since he had been taken, yet it didn't seem to deter the hunters that took him. Gerard being the center of his agony before the old man decided to let his buddies have a go on a few things. Gerard wanted answers on the pack. He wanted to know about Scott, about Derek and Peter, about why Derek could be such 'a monster' for turning a couple of teenagers. With each question that Stiles didn't answer or answered with his usual sarcastic wit, he would get a new taste of pain. Stiles has never endured so much pain in his life. Not ever. He could deal with the punches and kicks to his body...at first. Each punch or kick would come after he gave a smart comment, but eventually that melted away to becoming more aggressive and longer. It got to the point where Gerard thought his hands and feet were not enough. Even after he let his buddies give him a few knocks, each one laughing and smirking at him as the dealt out blows to him.

Erica and Boyd, who were here when he was brought down here, were screaming and snarling from behind there gags. Each one of them had the evidence of being tortured like him. Cuts and burns were on there skin, temporarily slowed from healing by the wolfsbane that was pumped into them. Both of them in the same position as him near the opposite wall, tied up with chains and electrical wire, their hands above their heads. Despite the cutting, burning, electrocution, and the physical assault from the hunters on them, they still seemed in better shape than Stiles. Even though he could not see his entire body, they at least seemed to stay mostly on their feet. 

When they started his interrogation, Stiles thought he was going to have to watch them be tortured, but it wasn't. Gerard said that as betas, they were instinctively ingrained in them to be fiercely loyal to their Alpha, they would never betray him. Instead he became the entertainment for the hunters. Erica and Boyd forced to endure the sight before them. With each question Stiles refused to answer, the hunters would retaliate, and the two werewolves were powerless to help their human friend. Yet Stiles still would not say anything. He refused to give any information on the pack. When the hunters attempted to 'play' with the werewolves, he would bring their attention back by using a few choice insults or words that would cause them want to take a turn for themselves. Gerard allowed it without a single thought, keeping a smirk in place the whole time.

His excuse was to teach Stiles a lesson, a hard, painful lesson. 

That was when the cuts started. Not from Gerard, but from Grant, his right hand man. Grant took special care in choosing where he wanted to cut, and what knife he wanted to use next. The man had fascination with watching each cut he made, with a giddy satisfied expression, almost of pleasure that it made Stiles' stomach flip and his skin crawl. He took his time making some cuts, others he went quick, just took get a different reaction from Stiles. Grant would smile and coo at him, encouraging him to scream for him and tell him how it felt. Stiles tried, he tried so hard to not scream or cry out in pain from the cold, biting pain from the cuts, but some of them his could not help. The worst cuts so far was the single one on his chest, running diagonal from tip of his right collarbone down off side towards his nipple. The other two were crisscrossed over his left shoulder blade. Those hurt the most, partly because he was already skinny, but also because his arms were above his head so it felt like the knife was cutting deeper into his already tense muscles. 

At some point Gerard said that Grant could stop with the cuts, but then the old man came forward with a large taser gun. Stiles has seen those before, but was afraid to ask how many volts goes into each push of the button. He found out when Gerard asked him what his dad would think of him protecting monsters. That caused Stiles to get angry and spat in the man's face. His body convulsed and tensed and clenched in on itself with each jolt of electricity going through him. He hoped that his teeth would not crack with how tight his was clenching his mouth closed. When he screamed at the top of his lungs from the last, longest jolts going through him, Gerard stopped, letting him slumped towards the floor, the cuffs cutting into his wrists even more. He could feel the skin on his side prickling and burning from the gun, no doubt blistering in some spots, but agonizing just the same. He could barely breathe, his breaths coming in small heaves. 

"I will ask you, one last time," Gerard said, moving away with the gun to throw it on the wooden table that he had weapons and instruments sitting on. "What is the pack planning?"

Stiles didn't say anything. He could barely speak through his busted lip and too fast breaths coming and going. Stiles looked up from behind his lashes, panting with each struggled breath. He gazed at the room from the hunters to the two werewolves on the other side of the basement. They were sweaty, dirty, and bloody. Erica had tears rolling down her face as she watched him. Her breathing ragged and forceful as she struggled to break the chains and wire on her arms and feet. Boyd was no different. He currently had no tears, but his eyes were going back and forth from glowing yellow to dark brown, his features were enraged, his growls and snarls ripping from his chest, but muffled from the thick gag in his mouth. He too was trying to break free, but with no more success that Erica. Both of them, watching Stiles, meeting his eyes as he looked at them. He couldn't let them get more hurt. Yet he also couldn't let Gerard and his goons know anything about the pack. 

He already figures that they know plenty about the pack. Gerard was a smart man, he had his hunters everywhere, watching the pack as they moved about. Ever since the Kanima came about, the hunters were everywhere. That was one thing, Stiles was worried about. Jackson, of all people, was dead, or at least so it would seem. No doubt the pack was trying to deal with that, but they also would be trying to find him, not to mention Derek's two missing betas. The beta's have been here longer than he has, which Stiles had found odd. Wasn't Derek looking for them? Did Derek know they were here? Regardless, he believed the others would find him. They had too.

"Go fuck yourselves," Stiles said, glad that his voice sounded steady.

Grant chose that moment to stroll forward, carrying a sizable, shiny knife, before reaching to pull his head back, his hand gripping his neck harshly then pressing the knife to his left oblique, pressing down and slicing his skin horizontally. He went slow, causing Stiles to grit his teeth, muffling his whimpers, the sounds of Erica and Boyd crying out in the background. When Grant twitched his wrist, the blade pressed even deeper, the blood welling out from the wound as the blade left the exposed cut, the sheer icy pain causing Stiles to cry out then, no longer able to hold it back as the blade went from his side to the middle of his stomach. 

"Enough," Gerard called out, startling the room. The blade left Stiles' skin quickly as if it had never been there. Scarlet blood running out in individual tracks down his lower abs, into the waistband of his lacrosse shorts.

"Boss," Grant said in question.

"Not here," Gerard said, looking towards to the door as if he heard someone standing on the other side. "He's not going to break, most likely because he doesn't know anything I do not already know." Gerard stepped forward, looking at Stiles with a mixture of calculation and annoyance. "Anyway, I have someplace else to be. Take him to the woods and get rid of him. Just make sure his friends are able to find him."

"What," Grant said, for the first time sounding like a stubborn child not getting a cookie. "You said I was able to have some fun with him."

Gerard rolled his eyes, waving a hand in dismissal. "Do what you want. I don't care, just get it done and leave his body for his precious pack to find." 

"What about them," one of the other hunters asked, motioning to the struggling betas.

"They will stay here for now," Gerard said matter-of-factly. "They will meet their fate later." The hunters nodded in acknowledgement as Gerard walked up the steps towards the door, not giving Stiles or the betas a last look before he left. Erica and Boyd were growling and screaming out as the hunters made to leave and Grant stepped closer to Stiles.

Stiles’ legs collapsed from under him when Grant unlocked the chains from the pipe and let him drop from there. The cuffs were still on his wrist, but he was no longer bound to the ground floor above. He cried out in pain as the movement aggravated his injuries, his bare knees colliding hard with the concrete floor, his skin meeting the blood that has slowly gathered over the hours of his torture, smearing it on the floor and on his legs. He didn’t know how to get out of this, how to save Erica and Boyd, how to save himself. His wrists were bleeding more freely now that the cuffs were not forced so flush with his wrists. He tried to move the cuffs a little away from the exposed, bloodied skin, worried that with all the blood he has lost he might bleed out before they made it to the woods. Although that may be the better option of the two. His back throbbed with every movement, his ribs were agony with every breath he took, sure that at least a two of them were broken, although he hoped just severely bruised. He was in pain and he was terrified, his brain was starting to get fuzzy that he couldn't see any way out of this. He knew that this was not over, there was much more to come before they were going to let him die.

Grant wrapped a hand around his still bleeding wrists and then hefted him up where he half carried, half dragged him out of the basement. Stiles was barely able to get one last glimpse of Erica and Boyd, both struggling in fear, anger, and pain against their chains and the electrical wire around them. The last look Stiles could see from them was the sheer terror in their eyes along with the desperation to break free and their muffled cries before the door slammed closed behind them. He prayed that they would be okay, he prayed that Derek would find them, even if Stiles' fate was already decided. 

The hunters took him out of the house to a black sedan outside before heading off in the direction of the preserve. Stiles couldn't tell where exactly they were going, but he didn't have long to wait when the car stopped and he was being pulled from out into the dark woods. Apparently they new of a path that had led from the road into the woods-maybe an old running and motor bike path-but either way not going to be of use to him tonight. There was no one out there with them. Stiles was alone, with a group of hunters, armed with weapons and predatory expressions. He tried to think of a way out this, anything he could do to escape, any way he could fight his way out of this.

That didn’t happen. He got nothing.

Instead they forced him to starting walking while they followed, continuing deeper into the preserve. The ground was littered with sharp twigs and sticks that cut into Stiles’ exposed legs as he stumbled forwards whenever Grant would push him to keep going. He was freezing and he was sure it was because of shock, it wasn’t exactly a cold night, but wandering around the preserve with multiple injuries, blood flowing from cuts on his body to cool in the night air and wearing no shirt was sure to be sending him into some kind of shock. Stiles wondered vaguely how long it would take him to die of exposure if he just ran now, the idea of dying by freezing to death or by his own injuries if not treated seemed like far better ideas than what the hunter's were probably going to do. The chances of him getting very far were pretty slim anyway, Grant or anyone of the others would probably shoot him before he got more than a few meters. But, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t going to run, and not because he couldn’t, not because he was scared to die, but because the others would come for him. He just had to give them more time. He had to keep going for them. It was all he had right now.

They were his pack and they would protect him, they would make sure he was okay. Just as he had protected Scott, Derek, and others earlier by refusing to give Gerard any of the information he wanted, no matter what the cost had been to Stiles, what the cost could still be. He knew the others would do the same, they would be strong. So he had to be too. 

“Alright, that’s far enough.” Grant spoke into the silence of the preserve. The night sounds around them seeming too calm for what Stiles remembered the last time he was out here at night. His breathing immediately started to get heavier and his already cold skin, turned icy in anticipation. His heart hammered in his chest that he thought everyone could hear it. Stiles turned slowly to face Grant and the others. The man was tall, slicked back blonde hair and bright, wild blue eyes, where something in said eyes spoke of the madness and the way he looked at Stiles with a predatory assessment, made a violent shiver run through his body that he tried to stifle.

“Now what to do with you now.” Grant had spoke to himself. He was still looking Stiles up and down, a smirk playing on his lips. What Grant said after was something that made Stiles' blood run cold. "Take off your shorts, boy," Grant commanded and Stiles looked at him in shock.

He knew that this was coming with the way that Grant had been touching him all night, the way he spoke to him, almost with a sultry, raspy tone when he asked Stiles to scream louder and if him getting cut to ribbons was feeling good. It left very little room for doubt in Stiles’ mind about what Grant really wanted, but still, the very idea of it made Stiles stand frozen, his body unresponsive and his brain running a mile a minute over the very words the man had spoken.

“I am not going to ask again kid, take them off now.” Grant repeated and Stiles could do nothing other than stare. He stared at Grant, at the other hunters, the silent shock in his face. Each one looked at him with a cold indifference or a look of pure dangerous madness. 

Grant didn't give him a chance to say or do anything after a final moment of silence, seeming to have had enough of the delay because he took a step forward and went to grab hold of Stiles’ arm. Stiles managed to flail backwards and out of his reach, swiping at Grant's hand as he did. He tripped over a couple of rocks on the ground, falling backwards on his back, the twigs and pebbles and dirt digging into his many cuts, bruises, and burned skin causing him to cry out in pain. He rolled over quickly to alleviate the pain, but his front was no better than his back.

He was powerless and in pain, he heard the laughter of the hunters behind him and gritted his teeth, knowing that they could see it too, and they didn't care. He tried to crawl his way forward, hoping to gain some ground or at least something to pull himself on his feet with. He didn't get much of an opportunity when he felt Grant’s weight settle on his calves preventing him from kicking out, pinning him in place. He tried to move him off with his body, pulling at the ground with his cuffed hands, but it seemed to encourage Grant even more. He felt Grant's laughter vibrate from his legs up his body, his legs heating his own as he sat on him and put his hands on his hurt as the man leaned down, pushing him further into the ground.

“Come on boy, just relax and this will be fun.” Grant whispered into his ear. That caused Stile to fight harder. He pulled his head forward and shot it back as hard as he could. He heard a cracking sound before feeling the pain in his head from the collision. No doubt going to give him a bigger concussion than he probably already had.

"Fuck!" Grant cursed above him. A hand had left Stiles' back, allowing Stiles a slight chance to wiggle out of Grant's hold. He was forced back to the ground quickly, his head buried into the dirt underneath, as Grant leaned over him again, pressing his hold body against his back. "You little shit," he spat in his ear. "You broke my nose, now I am going to break you." His fingers brushed underneath the waistband of Stiles’ shorts and boxers.

Stiles thought he might genuinely throw up and his body suddenly go frozen as his both bits of clothing were pulled down slightly and he felt the night air on his exposed skin along with cold hands on his ass. He was terrified, completely and utterly in horror, there was no other way to say it. His body shook with the pure terror that was running rampant throughout, yet it seemed to cause Grant more happiness as the man moved to widen Stiles' legs apart with his feet as he sat on them. 

He could feel the tendrils of a panic attack at the edges of his mind. His vision was getting spotty. He didn't know what he could do. His was out in the middle of the preserve, with armed men, no one else in sight. He couldn't help himself. He was in pain, his body screaming at him, his hands still bound. He couldn't believe this was happening. He couldn't do this-no he couldn't survive this! Where was his pack? He wanted to call out to Scott, he wanted to scream for Derek, but what would it do. Where were they? The panic was starting to rip through his system now, gaining a better foot hold in him. The faces of those he cared about rushing through his mind as they would learn about his damaged, dead body in the woods.

“Anyone got any lube?” Grant called out, laughing loudly and Stiles tensed up even more. The other hunters laughed and spouted their amusement as they all said no.

“It's alright. Spit and the blood running down your back will have to do," Grant said, petting Stiles' head, trailing his fingers down his back and over his bum. Grant held Stiles' tightly by the hips, his body shifting just slightly before he started to undo his pants. The sound of a belt being up buckled and the popping of a button echoing in Stiles' ears. Stiles tried to wiggle some more. But his body was not working. It wasn't responding to him. The panic attack gaining more and more ground over him as his breathing became more raspy, his vision clouding. The cold tendrils of fear spiking up his spine and back down again in harsh paths. This couldn't happen, he couldn't allow this to happen. His friends would save him. They had to save him.

"They will kill you," he found himself saying. His voice gravelly.

Grant pressed closer to him so he could hear him. "What did you say," he asked in what Stiles' assumed the man thought was a playful tone, but was more growly.

"My pack will kill you." Stiles said, turning his head to the side to look at Grant from his peripherals. "They will tear you apart, tear you all apart and leave your insides to burn by the sun."

Grant laughed at that. Loud and open in the silent night, echoing off the trees and seeming to make the preserve even more quiet. "You have fire boy, I'll give you that," he said, turning back to Stiles. "But no one is coming for you. No one even knows you are here and if they did it would not matter. As we speak, Gerard is on the verge of killing them all. He's got a plan to get rid of your pathetic misfits."

"No," Stiles said, barely shaking his head. "They are coming for me. You will be dead by morning."

Grant leaned in to whisper to him, "Then where are they." The whisper sent a chill down throughout his body that he couldn't shake. His breathing became more labored and his mind was screaming at him, mixing with the agony that was his body. "Face it boy," Grant said, a smile in voice. "You are alone. You pack is not coming for you and they will all be bloody and dead. No one is coming to help the poor defenseless human of a poor defenseless pack."

Stiles gritted his teeth. No, it couldn't be possible. His pack was not in danger. He believed they would be alright. Yet the steady certainty and the easy way Grant spoke of it made his body convulse in fear. His mind raced, his pack needed help. He had to help them. He did not know Gerard's plan, but he didn't care. He couldn't let them get hurt, they didn't know what was coming. He had to help Scott, Derek and Isaac. He had to get out this. He had to get out of this to save them, and then help save Erica and Boyd. He couldn't leave them. Yet he didn't know what to do. He was desperate. The terror rolled off of him in waves, and his body was coating in a cold sweat. He couldn’t let this happen, he couldn't let his pack get hurt. He tried to wriggle out of Grant’s grip, tried to do anything, but it was no use, there was nothing he could do. He screamed internally, screaming for someone to help him, to protect his pack, to please save him so he could help them. 

He prayed along with it. He was never much of a religious person, but he didn't care at this point. He would pray to anyone who would hear his cries. His mind screamed out, screaming to stop this, to stop all of it. He had to help his friends, he would not let them die! 

He didn't notice that he was screaming out loud now. His voice reverberating through out the surrounding woods. It caught the hunter's off guard, but Grant seemed to welcome it. Laughing along with his screams, telling him to keep going. Stiles didn't hear him, his screams ripping through him as the faces of his friends, his father, everyone he cared for ran through his mind over and over again. The plea for help from something, anything screaming in his mind along with the screams from his throat. Stiles felt a little bit nauseous, his body suddenly feeling hot, the sweat on his skin cold under his burning skin. He felt like something was pulling at his chest, his heart beating so fast he felt it through out his whole body.

He felt Grant, grips his hips again, moving closer to him, his intent clear. The faces of those he cared about in his mind, twisting and turning from his fear into pale, lifeless faces. _No!_ He screamed in his mind, they have to be saved, he had to protect them, he had to do something, anything. " _Help me!_  " He screamed out in his mind and out loud into the night. _Help me save them!_

He felt something building inside him, he wasn’t sure what it was but there was something inside him. It was warm and sturdy and grounding in his chest that seemed to wrap around his heart and spread throughout his body, something that felt safe. The panic attack was still there, but not getting worse, his vision sparkling with black and white dots. _Please help_ , he begged to it, _please help me save them._

The feeling of warmth spread and shot throughout his body again, this time so fast it felt like a jolt and he was squeezing his eyes shut and fighting back another scream, his teeth gritted together and his whole body arched up as the warmth seemed to burn in his around his skin now. Grant's weight leaving him suddenly, the feeling of air whooshing around him, yet barely touching him. He felt the twigs and dirt fall over his legs and back. The warmth seeming to burn on his skin, and it became so much that he curled in on himself, hoping to stifle it. The weight in his chest seeming to settle further, expanding outward until it in his gut too. Then suddenly it was leaving just as quickly, rushing out of him as fast as it had come. It felt like a hot, grounding stream of fire shooting from his chest out through his arms, bringing the warmth from all over his body. It felt like something was being pulled from him, pulled out from his hands, which he kept locked around his legs, his arms hugging himself tightly, his hands outward to keep the cuffs from cutting deeper.

Behind his closed lids, light erupted. It was a yellow light that was for sure, but where was it coming from? What was it? It was brighter than a flash light. Was it the others coming for him? Stiles cracked open his eyes and saw fire before him. Fire surrounding him in a circle, rising up high enough to be at least up to his waist. 

"What the Hell," Grant spat.

"Put out the fire," one of the hunters yelled.

"It's too hot," called another, the fire crackling and muffling the voices at little. Stiles could hear them faintly, but mostly the fire was in his ears, being deafening as it seemed to roar around him. He didn't have time to think about it, he pushed himself up to slightly, his legs tucked in front of him. His eyes found Grant's who seemed to look at him with such intense hatred and animistic desire that it made him shiver.

"Shoot him," Grant yelled pulling out a pistol from behind him, taking aim at Stiles behind the flames.

Stiles shut his eyes, waiting for the bang, following by the inevitable sharp pain of bullets ripping through his body. _No_ , he thought. _It can't end like this. Stop!_ He couldn't look. He didn't want to see his death coming. He prayed the flames would make it hard for him to be seen. He wanted the fire to stop the bullets. He wanted them to burn up. Or better, he wanted the fire to engulf the hunters. He wanted to stop them, stop them from hurting him, hurting anyone. He closed his eyes tight, praying for this nightmare to stop. No more hunters, no more hurt. He wanted them gone. 

He suddenly heard screaming. He couldn't really tell what it was saying or who it was, but he didn't care. The fire seemed to crackle and roar louder in his ears, the light becoming brighter even though his eyelids were closed. He caught briefs moments of anguishing cries, agonized pleas, and sounds of unfiltered pain being ripped from the throats of people nearby. They all sounded like men, but he couldn't be sure. He opened his eyes just a little to see the hunters, each one running around, caught ablaze with yellow-orange flames. It seemed to be licking at their clothes and skin, getting bigger with each piece of new flesh underneath. Stiles watched with wide eyes as their screams surrounded him along with the fire. He wanted to turn his head away, to not see this happen, to have it stop, yet he couldn't. His eyes were fixed, unable to turn from the sight before him. The warm feeling was still leaving his body, draining him of his energy as it did. He head grew heavy and his body was pulsing with the wounds he suffered, almost matching his fast beating heart.

He watched as the fire blackened the land around him and the hunters, only touching where they stepped and touched, burning just for a few seconds, before they seemed to put themselves out. Yet the hunters never seemed to get out of it. One by one, they all fell to ground, the smell of burning flesh and singed hair reaching his nose, making the impulse to vomit rise up in him. The last to fall was Grant, his eyes wide and hellish behind the flames. His roar of pain echoed loud and clear in Stiles' ears, as Stiles watched fire eat and burn away his skin, turning him to a blackened corpse on his feet before he fell to the ground. He would be lying if he said he did not get a small sense of satisfaction at seeing the burned body of Grant behind the flames, but he closed his eyes anyway. He didn't know what had happened, but his mind was not allowing him to think on it. 

He felt dizzy and about ready to pass out. He sweaty and his body was pleading for him to get help. As quickly as it had come, the fire was burning out. When he opened his eyes, he saw the flames dying down, even on the now dead bodies of the hunters. Blackened dirt and ash was all left behind on the ground where the fire was, Stiles sitting in a circle, a circle burned into the ground, with untouched grassed and twigs on the inside where he sat.

It looked like the fire went out in a arch, heading from the circle around Stiles, spreading outward, engulfing the hunters and some foliage and small trees nearby. Very slowly, Stiles pulled himself to a more sitting position before crawling towards the closest tree. He was exhausted, he needed to rest, he needed to sleep and to heal. He shook those thoughts from his head, knowing he couldn't have any of that, not yet. He needed to get to the others, he had to go help them, before they walked into a trap or something. The warmth that was in his chest was still there, still grounding him, which he welcome, not understanding how how he was doing so, but he didn't care. Maybe he was crazy from all that has happened, but he had other things to worry about. Somehow he found the strength to pull himself up on a small oak tree, stumbling as he did. He had to get going, because he had nothing, he was in the middle of the woods in his shorts, which he pulled back up. He had no weapons and he was not about to go rummaging on the dead, crispy bodies for anything salvageable. He had to hurry. 

 

 

 

He stumbled away from the burn area, not looking at the burnt hunters as he did. He went back the direction they came, since it was a straight shot. It was all he could do in hopes of finding the road. His injuries throbbed with every movement and his head pounded as his feet hit the ground with each step. Stiles tried not to sob in pain, his eyes watering, as he made his way back towards the black SUV. Cautiously he eased himself inside, before pulling away heading towards his house. 

He parked the car on the side of the road, about four houses down from his around the corner. He was stopped by his dad's car in the driveway. He thought his dad was still at work, but obviously the universe hated him to not allow him any sort of good luck. Slowly Stiles moved towards the door of the house, finding it unlocked, and letting himself in. He was met with nothing. He inched further into the house, waiting for his dad to come around the corner but found him on his recliner chair, asleep. Stiles breathed a quick sigh of relief, feeling on the verge of tears at the sight. He almost thought he would never see his father again, wanting immediately to go over and drop to his knees and hug him. However, not in his current condition. His was dirty and bloody and his dad would freak if he saw him like that. Moving as quick as his battered body would allow he climbed upstairs and made his way to the bathroom, first pulling out some painkillers and downing more than he probably should have before gently taking a damp wash cloth to wipe away the blood from his body as best he could. He couldn't do anything about the bruises or most of the cuts. So he took large band aids to put on the ones on his front to hopefully stop the bleeding. Of course it did little for the large cut on his gut. Some of the wounds started bleeding again when he tried to clean them. Giving up and gritting his teeth at the ache all over his body, he left his bathroom to get some clothes. He just pulled on a shirt and his favorite red jacket before heading back downstairs.

He was caught red handed when his dad, stood around the corner in the living room, having heard his son upstairs. One look from his dad and it almost sent him over the edge. He had to swallow back tears as he watched his old man's face go from annoyed worry to full blown concern. His dad made to come towards him, pulling his son into his arms. Stiles didn't relax though. The pain was worse with the pressure his dad applied. Pulling back, his dad assessed his face, eyes hovering over each bruise and scrape.

"What happened?" He asked, evident that he was holding back his full blown worry. "Stiles what happened?"

Stiles shook his dad's hands away. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

He made to move, but Sheriff Stilinski wouldn't let him. "That is not nothing. What happened? Who did this to you?"

"Dad, I'm fine. It was just some members from the other team. They decided to punch me a few times after I bad mouthed their team after they lost," he lied. He lied straight through his teeth. what made it worse was that it came easily like he had been working on it for hours. Maybe he had, since he knew he couldn't tell his dad without telling him everything else.

Noah shook his head. "Stile's this is not a few punches. Who are these boys? What are their names?"

Stiles moved out his dad's grasp. "Dad let it go. It's my fault."

"How is this your fault," Noah asked, anger starting to creep in his voice.

"Because it's me." Stiles said easily, trying to give a small smile, and hoping he succeeded. By the look his dad gave him, he failed.

"Tell me the truth," his dad said, his voice sounding more serious, more like the sheriff.

Stiles shook his head. "Dad it's nothing. Leave it alone. It's better if you do." Noah looked like he was about to say something else, but Stiles went on. He had to hurry and he had to get out there. "I got to go. I'm meeting Scott for something important. I got to go."

Stiles rushed out, pushing his already hurt body, so he could get out the door. His dad was calling for him, telling him to get back inside. Stiles knew he couldn't. If he went back now, he was afraid of letting everything slip. He knew that his dad would find out eventually about his injuries, or at least some of them, but he was hoping it wasn't till tomorrow at the very least. He wanted to go back and tell his dad everything, just to get the reassurance that everything would be okay. He owed his dad answers, he knows that. Their relationship has become more strained over the past few months, mostly because of Stiles. How could he tell his dad what he knew? How could he tell him the horrors he has seen? He wanted to feel his dad's arms around him, protecting him, like they did was he was a small child. Obviously that wasn't going to happen anymore.

He headed to his jeep quickly. Climbing in and shutting the door, so he could pull out before he dad followed. Scott had surprised him to take them to the game, so Stiles forgot his phone while he backed out. He had to warn Scott, he had to tell him what happened. The screen lit up to show twenty five missed texts and ten missed call, only 5 with voicemails. Most were from his dad, some from Scott. He didn't know what had happened while he spent some bonding time with Gerard, but he did know that Gerard was Jackson's master. He also knew that the old man had ordered Jackson to kill himself so that he could evolve into an Alpha kanima. He didn’t know really what that meant, but he didn't want to find out and he had no idea if the others knew either.

As he was about to call Scott, it vibrated in his hand to show an incoming text from his best friend. Stiles was expecting it to ask where he was or what happened to him or if he was okay, but that was not what he read. 

**Scott: Jackson is not dead. He is turning into some kind of Alpha kanima. Come to the old warehouse off of Third and Elm. Bring Lydia. She can help save Jackson. Hurry up!**

 

 Stiles was taken aback, but he also felt a sinking feeling in his gut. He stared at his phone for a few moments, almost forgetting that he was driving before he swerved back into his lane. Scott didn't look for him. Did he not know he was missing for hours? Where was he after the game? Where did he think Stiles was? His best friend, his brother, didn't look for him.

Stiles was feeling his eyes water and a panic attack coming, but he pushed it down. He had too. He still felt that warm rock in his chest from earlier, although he suspected that it was residual pain from the beating or his supposed broken ribs. Either way he focused on that, hoping to have it ground him. He needed to focus. He turned his car towards Lydia's hoping to anyone who would listen that she was at her house. He had no idea where she was, but his best bet was to try there. He found that she was in fact at her house, but not inside. Instead as he trudged up to the house, he found her in her car in the driveway, crying and looking totally unlike the Lydia he knew. He was surprised how easy it was, but he didn't care, there was no time. Lydia barely saw him coming and was almost startled when she saw his form coming towards her. She quickly wiped her cheeks before getting out of her car, regarding him with what indifferent look, although it lacked the power it used to.

It was gone when she saw his face, taking in the red welts on his cheeks, the bruises, and the split lip, broken nose, and eyebrow.

“What happened to you?” She asked coming up to him with a look of surprise and strangely concern. He shrugged in response, offering that as the only explanation. He didn't want to tell her, he didn't think she would believe him, probably think he was crazy. However, he needed her to believe in crazy. The irony.

“Come on,” Stiles said, motioning to his jeep, “We need to go now.”

“Go where?” Lydia asked eyeing him and then his jeep uncertainly.

“There might be a way for you to save Jackson. We need to go now," Stiles said. When Lydia just stood there looking like she was really contemplating on if he was crazy or not, Stiles stopped short, turning back to her. "Look I'll explain everything on the way, but right now we need your help. Jackson needs your help. Please Lydia." At his words, Lydia seemed to catch on to his desperation. They both climbed back in and Stiles revved up the engine before speeding off.

He told her, everything that has happened. He told her from the very beginning to the very moment they learned about what was going on with Jackson. Starting with going out to look for Laura Hale's body in the woods, Scott getting bit by Peter, Peter and his revenge and how crazy ass went off the rails, Derek becoming the Alpha, about Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, Gerard and Allison and her family. He still did not tell her about his kidnapping, deciding to leave that out, also thinking about if there was anything he missed while he was in Gerard's clutches. She took all of it pretty well. She didn't interrupt or say anything against what he said. In fact, her face seemed to brighten on a few things as if she finally was able to understand as puzzle pieces went into place. However, when he started to stutter over what happened after the game, after Jackson seemingly dying, she looked at him with a mixture of worry and speculation on her face.

But she said nothing which he was happy for, turning the wheel hard around a curve. He was hoping he was succeeding in showing her the truth. Even if he did not tell her everything. But, he still couldn't think about it now. They were, in fact, almost there.

It didn’t take them long to get to the warehouse, his phone beeping constantly and Lydia reading out the texts to him. Stiles worked his brain fast, hoping that what he was about to do was not totally stupid. It was the fastest way though and hopefully, it would give a good distraction. He had to hope for the best, even if his nerves was rattling. His body ached and he was draining quick, so he pushed down on the gas quick, letting his jeep be floored towards the outer wall of the warehouse. He squeezed his eyes shut as they smashed through the wall, pushing past the falling debris and colliding with something solid before his feet slammed on the brakes. He opened his eyes to see dust and a lot of wide eyes before seeing Lydia rushing to get out of the jeep heading over to the kanima that was a few feet in front of the jeep. He barely heard her calling Jackson's name, his ears ringing from the headache.

Stiles could only watch in astonishment, taking in the sight before him. Aside from Jackson and Lydia, he saw Isaac looking a little worse for wear with a knife in his shoulder, Derek nearby in a shadow, Scott rushing over to Allison to check her for injuries, even though she was brushing him off. Chris  was watching Jackson and Lydia with surprise and interest on his face.

Stiles returned his gaze to Jackson and Lydia, listening to her tell him she loved him and cared for him so much. His claws retracting as his yellow, reptilian eyes leveled on the girl before him. Lydia never once broke her gaze from Jackson, her eyes watering with love and happiness as she poured her heart out to Jackson. Stiles felt a slight sting in his gut at watching Lydia with Jackson, but it wasn't much of one. On some level he did still love Lydia, but he also knew that it was not meant to be. He accepted that a while ago, which might explain why it wasn't very hurtful to him. He used to look at Lydia like she could be his greatest love, now he could only see her as a friend, one that he had the pleasure of growing closer to in a real way as of late. He was proud to have that. Although he still thought Jackson was a gigantic douche and she was too good for him. But what can you do?

He watched in horror as Derek leapt from the ground while Peter (surprisingly) came from above, landing behind Jackson as Derek shoved Lydia away, both shoving their claws into the boy, front and back. A strangled sound came from Lydia, before a loud roar sounded from Jackson, vibrating around the warehouse. When they quickly pulled away, the rest of his scaly skin went back to human and his yellow eyes changed to an electric blue and fangs lengthening from his jaw. Jackson had finally become a werewolf, getting what he wanted from the beginning. _That douchebag,_ he thought. Jackson collapsed into Lydia's arms afterward, both of them talking quietly to each other in panting, tired voices.

Stiles leaned back against his jeep, taking a few deep breaths. His chest hurting with each deep breath as it expanded his already aching chest, his ribs protesting at the movement. He worked to steady his heartbeat and control his lingering panic at the night's events. He was glad everyone was safe. However, he did find himself looking for Gerard, for the evil bastard who sought to hurt his friends, hurt him. There was no sight of him. He saw Derek standing off to the side, staring at the ground with a dark look like it had offended him somehow.

Unsteadily, Stiles made his way to the man, hoping to tell him about what had happened. Warn him about Gerard and tell him about Erica and Boyd, hoping that they could get them out of there before Gerard kills them. Derek didn't look at him when he came up to him, his breathing going back and forth from normal to slightly wheezy. "Derek," Stiles said, looking at the man. "Derek, where is-"

Derek turned to him fast, a growl escaping from his lips, his eyes flashing a brilliant red. "Get away."

Stiles was taken aback. He was stunned to the core at Derek. The growl was not something that was new to him, but the look on Derek's face was. The words stopping his words in his throat before he could release them. "W-what?"

"Get away from me," Derek spat between his slightly lengthening teeth. "I knew I couldn't trust you."

Confusion ran through Stiles. What could he have done now? He was missing for hours. What possibly could he have done to make Derek look at him like that? Was Derek mad that he had gotten kidnapped? Did he know that Gerard took him? Did he think that Stiles told him everything he wanted to know?

"What are you-" he began, only to be cut off by Derek again.

"Shut up," Derek raged, stunning Stiles into silence. "I knew it, I knew I shouldn't have. I should have known better. After all you are always the one with the plans. The only one to spin the web of deception."

"What are you on about," asked Stiles, finding his voice although it came out sounding strangled. He looked around for help from the others, hoping someone would be able to help him understand. Or at least hoping they would come to his aid. The only person who seemed to notice was Peter, who was gazing at them with looks of concern and confusion. Peter was barely watching Derek, his eyes glancing at him once, but then finding Stiles. In the short, few seconds, Stiles could not figure out what the older wolf was thinking.

"Scott was working with _him_ , Stiles!" Derek snarled, his eyes flashing red again. "He was working with Gerard! Of course it was your idea, right? No one else could have thought to use the enemy like that. You're a talented liar Stiles, pretending to give a damn when all you want is to prove your wits."

"No, Derek that is not what happened," Stiles tried, his voice bordering on pleading. Scott was working with Gerard? Did Scott know about Stiles' kidnapping? His best friend was not like that, he wouldn't be like that. Derek couldn't think that of stiles either. He couldn't think that he was not trustworthy. He was not capable of doing that to him, to the pack. He still did not know what all had happened. Where was Gerard? How could Derek not notice his pain? Could he not tell or did he not want to know?

Quickly, Derek shoved Stiles, pushing him up against closest wall, a little away from the others. "Do not lie to me. You planned all of this. Scott is not smart enough to have concocted this kind of plan. He wouldn't have it in him to hurt others."

Stiles was shaking his head, trying to catch his breath and not cry from the pain his back was exuding. The hard surface against barely protected back was jarring all the cuts and bruises. He was afraid that the cuts had opened from the forced action. "No, listen to me, please. Please trust me. Listen to my heart, you can tell if I am lying. Always, you can tell," Stiles tried. He wanted to beg Derek to see reason. This couldn't be happening, not now.

There was a small moment, a small hopeful moment where Stiles thought that Derek would believe him. The man's brows furrowed for just a slight moment, the uncertainty cross his eyes. That somehow his anguish had gotten to far from him and would realize that he made a mistake and would apologize for his rash thoughts. Stiles thought he would be able to tell Derek everything that happened and would make him see truth and then go after Erica and Boyd. But that moment did not come and instead Derek's eyes cleared, the red tinge around the irises remaining. 

"Like I said," he sneered, "you're a talented liar. Why would I trust you?"

"Because," Stiles stammered, his voice sounding small. "Because I'm pack. Because you _can_ trust me."

Derek looked at him with an emotion Stiles could not identify. "Are you," Derek said with an incredulous tone. He should his head, almost sadly. "You are not pack. You are not someone I can trust. You or Scott for that matter. You are nothing to me now."

"Derek," Stiles whispered in shock. He could feel the threat of tears in his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. This can't be happening. How can this be happening?

"You are just a human," the man said, his tone growing calm, yet cold. "A sarcastic little boy who whines at the world and lies to everyone. Even his own family." 

That felt like a kick in the gut. More like several kicks. His breath left him as quick as it had come. A rising panic attack in the back of his mind, images of Gerard, Grant, Derek and Scott, his father all flooding through his mind. Derek looked at him with such cold disdain and disappointment that it broke his heart. The threat of tears coming even harder as his breathing stopped and caught in his throat like he was going to choke. His heart was so loud, no doubt Derek heard it, but Stiles thought Derek didn't care. Never mind his injuries from Gerard, this hurt a hell of a lot worse. Even more so that Derek still had not taken notice to the condition of his body, not the bruises on his face or the cuts on his lip and eyebrow. It was like Derek couldn't see him anymore, couldn't see past the betrayal Derek thought Stiles had done. 

"Derek-," Stiles tried, his voice barely recognizable to himself.

"Just stop, Stiles," Derek said, looking away from him. "Stay away from me." With that, Derek turned and walked away from him, heading out in another direction, going out into the night. Stiles caught Peter's eyes for just a brief moment. The man looked torn, although Stiles could not understand why. Peter had left after Derek, leaving the rest of them in warehouse. He couldn't breathe. He was hurt and he was on the verge of breaking apart completely. 

His mind raced with the new information. He had indeed missed a lot in the hours he was held prisoner. He tried to process everything, yet it made his brain hurt. He wanted to deny it all, the very idea of it all, but the look on Derek's face said it all. What he spoke of was true. Scott had been working with Gerard. Scott had betrayed Derek and worked with the lunatic. Stiles was beaten to a pulp and almost killed and Scott was not there. He did not come for him, instead working with the very man who had taken him. He felt sick. He felt like he was falling apart.

He barely was aware pf Scott and the others approaching him. Scott had a smile on his face, one that seemed proud. He had his hand in Allison's although she looked like she was tired and sad herself.

"Hey bro," Scott said easily. "What happened to you face?"

“What do you think happened Scott?” Stiles replied bitterly, trying to pull himself together. He wanted to leave. He wanted to get out of here before something else happened.

“You tell me. You disappeared off the lacrosse field after the game, you left without saying anything and have been gone for hours.” Scott said as he squeezed Allison's hand, Jackson and Lydia hovering off behind them. 

“Yeah, we thought you had a panic attack after all your adoring fans came out onto the field. Too much for you nerves to handle," Isaac snickered. 

“No.” Stiles spat, glaring at Isaac, really wanting to haul off and punch him. His whole body was still throbbing and each breath was making his body hurt more. He felt like he was swaying, but his vision remained stuck to Scott, who's face seemed too easily happy after the day's events. “What have you done?” Stiles said returning his gaze to Scott, hoping beyond hope that it was not true. Scott had to know that his best friend was hurt, he had to know what had happened to him. "You were working with Gerard?"

“I had no choice” Scott replied with a shrug effectively making Stiles feel like he had been gutted again. “The bastard threatened my mom and he threatened Allison. I couldn't let him hurt the two people I care about most.”

And there is was. The truth of it all. Like another, sharper, deeper blade to the chest, Stiles felt the sting of this words deep. Scott had no only worked with Gerard, but he outright admitted to Stiles that he did not matter. He did not matter to him. He was not one of the people he cared about most. “And that makes what you did okay? What you did to Derek?”

“Derek's an Alpha. He'll get over it.” Scott replied dismissively. Isaac nodded, shrugging his shoulders in nonchalance. Although Allison furrowed her eyebrows slightly, but said nothing. Lydia and Jackson were quiet. Lydia was looking at him with concern and looking at Scott with mild surprise. Jackson was looking uninterested, although he was looking at Stiles with a smirk on his face. Like the jackass knew the effect the words had on Stiles. At Scott admitting that Stiles was not important to him.

“And what of me?” Stiles asked, looking at his best friend. Even as he looked at him, he could barely stomach the sight of him.

“What about you," Scott said quizzically. "This has nothing to do with you."

“You betrayed him, Scott. You know what the bite means to him. You forced him to do the one thing he would never do for someone like Gerard. Now what? What happened with Gerard?” Stiles said, almost in a whine, his pain from his body starting to show in his voice. It was building with each moment. He needed to leave, like now.

"I tricked him into ingesting mountain ash by putting it into his medication pills. Deaton helped me with that. It was his idea mostly. It worked too. Gerard is now harmless to everyone considering how sick he is now. He ran off before you got here," Scott said, again proudly, although Allison seemed to be conflicted.

"So Deaton knew. Did you not think that if you could trust _Deaton_ with this that you could let Derek in on this? Or even me?" Stiles asked regarding Scott as calmly as he could manage.

"Of course not," Scott replied with a wry smile. "I knew Derek would not go for it if he knew and I knew you would warn him. Not to mention, Gerard threatened mom and Allison. If he found out about the plan, he would have hurt them."

"So you instead had Deaton help you, a man who is as cryptic as they come. And you betrayed Derek in the process. Betrayed me too. You didn't trust us," Stiles said, his anger starting to rise, mixing with the pain in his heart.

“I didn’t betray you, dude.” Scott said. "It was my plan and just because I didn’t tell you doesn’t mean I betrayed you. Stop acting all hurt over something that is nothing.”

“It is not nothing. You knew what Gerard was going to do and you said nothing. You kept everything to yourself, while the rest of us were kept in the dark.” Stiles hissed, he needed to get away and calm down by himself. Panic was swirling more and more in his head. His already unsteady body was becoming even more so. He could feel warmth trickle down his back and he felt his boxers get a little wet at the waistband. The wounds were open, no doubt his fast heart making it worse. He was spinning with all this information. Scott had known. He knew about Gerard's plans and he said nothing. Scott didn't trust him or Derek, so he worked behind their backs. Scott might as well had handed Stiles over to Gerard. Since he didn't want him to know his plans, it was the perfect excuse.

“Come off it,” Scott said getting angry now. He took his hand from Allison, Isaac and her looking at him in surprise. Jackson and Lydia staying quiet, but no less stunned. “You are just mad that you were kept out of the loop. That it was not your plan. Grow up Stiles. This is not a game. People's lives are at stake and I did what was necessary. It was my plan and I worked it out the way I could. Not everything is about you. Accept it and get over it."

“Yeah,” Stiles said sadly after Scott's little rant. He was sad and hurt, and so angry. His body was screaming at him and his mind was cloudy with panic and sleep. He could feel the pull of exhaustion and it called to him like a siren. It was welcoming him. Yet, he couldn't give in. He had to keep going just a little longer. He wanted to say something more, argue with Scott over what he had done. He wanted to reveal to him what really happened to him. He needed his best friend, his brother. He needed him to help chase away the lingering panic and tell him that it was over. He still had no idea what happened in the preserve, the fire and the burning hunters. The images flashing through his mind, making his skin hot and clammy, his breathing catch in his throat. Scott was supposed to trust him, was supposed to confide in him. Stiles has always done the same to him, has always helped him when he needed it. How could he tell him what had happened, when Scott cared so little for him, when Scott was also working for Gerard. When he saw Stiles as a child, complaining about unfairness, prone to panic attacks over too much attention, with little to offer when the people he cared about were in jeopardy. Was that where Scott classified him in his life?

”Just go home, Stiles,” Scott said shaking his head slowly. “Go home and let my pack handle the rest.”

Stiles nodded, stepping away from the group. The truth coming out again of how Scott saw him. He saw Scott’s true colors now. He saw what he was to him. He was nothing. He was a burden if nothing else. He was not pack to them. Not to Derek and not to Scott. He turning on them quickly to go to his jeep. He barely heard his name being called and he didn't know who by. He didn't care. He hopped in his jeep, barely muffling the sound of pain as his back hit the seat, turning the engine over and backing out of the warehouse to drive away. He didn't want to go home and face his dad again. He was hurt and in pain. He wanted to help Erica and Boyd, but how? He had no pack now. Derek didn't want him and Scott thought so little of him. What was he to do? 

He drove along the darkened streets, trying to head back to his house. He needed rest. His vision was blackening. He vaguely knew he should pull over, but he didn't. He had to get home first. He had to come up with a way to get Erica and Boyd. He couldn't leave them. If Derek didn't want him, then he would give his help to his betas. At least that is what he told himself. His head felt heavy. He was passing by the streets, heading closer to the outskirts of town where his house was. The buildings becoming more distant from one another. He was almost there, at least he hoped. Stiles could barely make out shaped in the dark. Each passing moment, his vision clouded more and more. When his eyes closed, his felt his consciousness slipping from him. He barely felt his arm turn the steering wheel to the right hard, the sound of tires squealing as the jeep lurched to the side. A large thump, jolted Stiles, making him hit his head hard on the roof of the cabin. He caught the shape of a tree and the start of concrete freeway dividers before his jeep slipped between the two, knocking the jeep to a holt, effectively pinning in the middle where in the front just behind the front two tires. 

Stiles fell forward, the wheel knocking into his chest, a wave of pain shooting from his chest into his shoulders in arms before he fell to the side in his seat. His eyes swimming in darkness and water from his tears that he had forgotten about. He had passed out, barely aware of the lights moving over the cabin of his truck.

 


	2. Truth Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes after the crash. Groggy and in pain, what awaits him now? When will this terrible night end?
> 
> Warning! Description of panic attack and symptoms of such that may cause triggering. Please avoid that part of you are not comfortable with reading about those parts. You will not miss anything if you do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so happy for all the feed back and love from you all!!!! I had already started writing this chapter and I worked hard to get it out quickly for you all. The next one may not be out till early next week, but rest assured I am already organizing it and will be writing it out before the weekend. Your comments are so great to read and I am so thrilled you like how this fic is turning out. I promised a lot of emotion and angst and this chapter is filled with it. Love you all and stayed tuned for the next installment!

Darkness was all around Stiles as he came back to sight awareness. He welcomed it. He was comforted by it. The silence and warm pull that would cause him to float in and out of consciousness. He was vaguely aware of an ache that swept through his body but he tried to pay it no mind. Instead he focused on something else. He felt like something was vibrating, yet couldn't distinguish what. He turned back to the darkness, encouraging it to surround him, wanting to bask in it and have it cloud out all his troubles. Yet the more he became aware of the darkness, the more he became aware of the pain. It seemed to go from a dull ache to a constant throbbing. It was throbbing in time with his heartbeat that was pumping in his ears. He supposed he should be glad he was still alive, but the pain was not helping in that happiness. 

When he felt a sharp sting shoot up his arm, he shook awake violently, arching up and almost losing consciousness again from a wave of dizziness. His eyes were a mixture of black dots and fuzzy shapes and colors. He could barely make out a soft yellow light that was in front of him. But he couldn’t see anything last that.

Warmth settled on his back then, a weight in between his shoulder blades. He was aware of another warmth on gripping his outer shoulder, shaking it, sending more throbs of pain through his arm, casting down and over his chest to the other arm with each shake. He didn’t know what to expect when he turned his head, but he didn’t expect a collection of soft, blurry colors surrounded by blackness at the edges of his vision. Nor what looked like brownish blobs on his body, or what was supposed to be his body. 

He wanted shake his head, clear his eyes, but it hurt. It hurt so bad that his head felt like it was swaying on his neck, moving the pounding in his head from one side to the next. Nausea was joining the dizziness then. He had to swallow, just to keep himself from wanting to keel over and heave. He couldn’t really hear anything besides his heart beat, but he did hear a voice. First like a whisper, almost coaxing to him then becoming clearer like it was getting closer to him. Eventually it became soft, concerned, a mixture of gravelly and silvery tones, something he could identify as a real voice.

Stiles knew that it was a person who was beside him. Despite the cloudiness of his eyes and his head, he could tell that much. The shifting blurs and the voice nearby was enough. Tell him to stay awake, to not fall back asleep. Take deep breaths and to keep focusing on his voice. He wasn't sure who it was, but it was familiar to him somehow. He hoped it was his dad, that he could deal with, he would welcome that. He did not know where he was or what happened. Why did his body feel like jello and painful with each breath and each twitch of a muscle, he couldn't tell you at that point. Stiles, might have leaned back a little into the warmth that felt like a hand that was pressing in between his shoulders, but a cold pain shot down his spine and over his shoulders, like icy fire. He hissed, sucking in air, arching himself away from the hand, but not going far. The hand didn't apply any more pressure, but just seemed to hover, only giving off heat after that. The other 'hand' that was on his shoulder loosened, just barely gripping him.

Stiles listened to the voice in his ear, focusing on it. He knew it was familiar, yet he could place a name or even a face. The more he listened, though, the more his body seemed to relax a bit. His vision was straightening out. He was able to turn blurs into more shapely items, the black dots leaving the edges of his vision. He still felt dizzy and had a massive headache, but at least the nausea was dissipating as he continued to stare straight ahead, focusing on the words being said to him. 

After feeling like he could move just a little, he slowly turned his head to the side, taking in the figure he knew was beside him. The features became clearer, sharper as be watched. The blurs fading to reveal tanned skin, angled face, strong jaw, and dark eyes. Short dark brown hair and shoulders that were broad as they rippled with movement. The face of Danny Mahealani staring back at him, his eyes holding his with a calm that both comforted and unnerved Stiles. When he looked down, he saw a hand, clear as day, on his arm.

Almost on instinct, Stiles moved, arching himself away from Danny. He grunted in pain, just barely keeping it from escaping his lips as he moved to the side, away from the hand, not even realizing it was Danny's. He didn't go far, his back hitting a wall, as he angled himself to be partially facing Danny, partially facing what was an empty room. It was his room, he could tell that now, the familiar sight of his closet, his desk, and his nightstand at the foot of his bed, holding the lamp from his desk on it, illuminating in a dull shade of yellow, being the only source of light in the room. Danny sat on his desk chair beside his bed, a brown towel balancing on his leg. He saw when Danny's eyes went wide with shock, worry lacing their depths as he held up his hands.

Why was Danny here? What happened to him? Why was he looking at him like that?

He could still feel the warmth from Danny’s body near his left leg, the heat from his hand still on his shoulder. Now his hands were palms up in a calm, non-violent gesture like he was testing Stiles like a scarred animal. I’m truth, Stiles was scarred. He couldn’t remember much, but as his vision cleared, his brain was starting to work again. The dizziness slowly clearing little by little to reveal the events from that day. Or previous day? Or what time is it? 

“W-what time is it?” Stiles stammered, his heart still pounding in his chest, vibrating his ears. His vision was starting to go back and forth to blurry again. He could feel his hands shaking, but he tried to hide them by gripping his thighs. 

Danny didn't answer at first, but he seemed to shake off his temporary shock, before answering. "It is almost 3 am."

Stiles said nothing at that. Of course it was late. Or early. He did not care really, it was just the first question to come out of his mouth.

"Stiles," Danny quietly coaxed, bring Stiles' eyes back to him. "Do you know who I am?"

Now he was even more confused. Where the hell did that question come from? Of course he knew Danny. He has known this boy for most of his life. Wait, did Danny not know who he was? No, no he said his name. So he obviously does know who Stiles is. Then, where was that question coming from?

Stiles nodded his head slowly, hoping to not jar his head. "Yes, Danny," he said, hoping that he Danny would elaborate on why he asked. 

Danny sighed heavily, relief clear on his face. But still etched with worry, he still held his hands up, conveying he was not a threat. Stiles knew that. Stiles knew Danny. _Yet you still flinched away from him,_ his mind supplied in a whisper. Stiles felt guilty, but he couldn't stop seeing the hand on him. The hand that was big and tanned, with subtle muscles, long yet strong fingers. The image of Grant passed through his mind, completely unwanted and without delay, his face, leading to his hands, almost the same shape as Danny's, muscled from years of use on knives, warmth with their own heat, gliding over his skin, gripping and scratching, leaving their mark no matter where they went. In a flash, one hand on his body was enough to send him wanting to get away. Maybe it wouldn't have been that way if he was aware of it being Danny's. He couldn't be sure though, could he?

"What happened," Stiles asked, turning away from the images of Grant. He really wanted to know how he got home. The last thing he remembered was he jeep. He had hoped that none of what he remembered was true. With each bit of information he was remembering, he was hoping none of it was real. Yet if the way he saw Grant in his mind and how he remembered the feeling of his hands scratching over his body, his voice in his ear, any of that was anything to go by, it was very safe to assume that it was not a vivid dream. It was a very vivid reality, every single bit of it.

Danny settled his hands back on his legs, leaning closer just a bit, dropping his eyes to the floor. "I found you on the side of the road. Your jeep was crashed in between a tree and a concrete guard rail. I brought you home. I have been trying to get you to wake up for over 15 minutes."

Stiles couldn't remember that. Very vague images of the road came to mind, but nothing much, most just blurs of images he could not identify. "I...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been driving." What else could he say. There was nothing he could say. If he told Danny anything that happened or even where he was coming from, he would get suspicious and more than likely not believe him. Danny didn't need to know about his problems.

"It's okay," Danny said as he leaned back in the chair. "I get it."

"Really?" Stiles couldn't help but asked in surprise. He wasn't sure he liked those three words. What did Danny mean?

"Well, you were stupid for driving in your condition that much is true. But I get why."

Stiles felt his heart beating faster now. "What do you mean?"

"Come on Stiles," the boy said, cocking a small, sad smile. "I know what hunter's marks look like by now."

Fear swept through Stiles. His body went rigid, his back going straight. He felt his eyes going wide, his hands clench in the fabric of his shorts. The pounding in his chest got harder, heat flushing on his skin as cold sweat started to gather on his back and hands. Danny's words echoing in his brain, replaying over and over again. He tried to think of a way to play off Danny's words, but there was no mistaking the hesitation Danny saw on his face. 

"What," Stiles asked so quiet it was whisper. He couldn't manage more than that.

"I know, Stiles," Danny said softly. "I know about hunters. I know about the pack." Danny moved slowly, seeming to try and not scare Stiles some more. He reached down, picking up a bowl with water and wash cloth in it. He set it on the on the windowsill, balancing it carefully so it would not fall. He pushed the cloth further into the water, letting it soak up some water before he squeezed it out. Danny held up in front of him, folded neatly, looking at Stiles with more calm than Stiles felt. He gestured towards Stiles, lowering his eyes to Stile's wrist, where they still raw and covered with dried blood. Small lacerations and peeling skin wrapped around them both. "May I," Danny asked in the same soft tone.

Stiles just stared for a few heartbeats. Danny knew. He knew about hunters, about the pack. How could he know? Did someone tell him? Was Danny just that smart or did he hear more than he let on? Stiles wasn't sure he could trust Danny. Even as he sat there though, he figured that if Danny wanted to hurt him, he would have already. Yet, he was the one who brought Stiles home. Danny was the one who made sure he was okay after his passing out in his car, covered in bruises and cuts, looking worse for wear, and still managed to get him home. Stiles had said once that Danny was nice to everyone, everyone liked Danny, he still stood by that. Danny was a good person, even if he didn't have to be. He and Danny had never been friends per say, but it did not mean that Danny had ever shown any animosity to him. Should he allow Danny to help him? 

Tentatively, Stiles nodded his head, but said nothing. When Danny, reached for his arm, he did it with his palm face up, not grabbing or reach, but rather allowing Stiles to meet him halfway. When Stiles put his forearm in his hand, his body relaxed slightly at the gentle touch, but he still tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He still was wary and after the night he had, he'd be damned if he left himself relax fully. Danny gently put the wash cloth on his wrist, just barely putting pressure on it as he guided it downward, collecting the easiest bits of dried blood, dirt, and skin that fell away without a problem. Stiles stared in silence as his classmate ran the cloth over his skin, the water cooling his heated skin. 

"How," Stiles asked breaking the silence, asking the question he really wanted an answer to. "How do you know about the pack? About hunters?"

Danny glanced at him for a quick moment, still wiping at his left wrist, turning his hand around to get at the underside. "I've known for a while," he answered honestly.

"Why...Why had you not said anything?" 

The simply shrugged. "I guess I was waiting to be included. It was not my place to say anything." Danny seemed sad about that, but he seemed to hide it quickly. The cross of emotion gone and his face turning back into a mask, focusing on what he was doing. 

"I suppose we never acted like we could include you," Stiles said guiltily. "I would have thought Jackson would tell you." Then Stiles remembered. Danny still thought Jackson was dead or at the hospital or something. Oh shit, how was he going to explain that. "Wait, I'm sorry, I shouldn't...I mean...Jackson...I just." _Well shit._

Danny smiled, a chuckle coming from him before he looked at Stiles, cocking his head. "I know about Jackson too, Stiles. I found that out as well. As for him being alive, I am aware. He texted me earlier tonight. Said he was okay." 

Stiles couldn't help but see the tense lines in Danny's face as he talked about Jackson, but he didn't comment on it. "So you know everything?"

Danny nodded moving on to the other wrist, wiping gently a few time before putting the cloth back in the bowl to wet it, squeeze it out, then start again. "Just about. What I do not know, is what happened to you. I thought the pack was keeping an eye on you. What the hell happened to you?"

The seriousness and firmness of Danny's comments were off putting. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Danny knew. That he had know for some time. Of course he did not say how he knew. That was a question Stiles thought was important, more so than answering Danny's question.

"How do you know about all this? About the pack and hunters?" Stiles had said, trying to straighten himself up some, hoping to show his defiance.

Danny sighed rolling his eyes before dropping his gaze to the floor. His shoulders looked rigid. When he looked back up it was with a hard look in his kind eyes. "Because," he said, "I was born into it. My parents were mixed up in the supernatural before they left. That is why I know about the werewolves and hunters. I put two and two together after I witnessed a few strange things. Not to mention some of you are not very subtle at keeping secrets." He spoke quickly, pushing past the words like he had to hurry before he would lose his nerve to say them. The whole time he looked at Stiles, never once breaking eye contact. His eyes were hard, an emotion he couldn't identify in their depths. "Now are you going to tell me what happened? Where are the others?"

Stiles let his lingering questions drop. He had no right to pry into Danny's personal life. Especially not about his parents. Everyone knew that Danny was left with his grandmother at a young age. His parents just up and left one day, leaving behind their son, giving him some of their willings and enough savings to get him through the rest of school without a problem. His grandmother took him without question, but it still did little to appease the questions of the town. No one had seen or heard from his parents since. All contact has been lost. Danny has barely spoken about them to anyone, never wanting to for the pain it still caused, all the unexplained questions. Now Stiles suspected they left for reasons pertaining to the supernatural. He had a feeling Danny knew that too. Whatever the reasons, it was enough to have them leave town and not take their son with them. 

Stiles felt like an ass for pushing, even though he didn't know Danny would mention his parents. It still didn't make him feel like less of an idiot for not suspecting a personal reason why Danny knew about the supernatural. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to..."

Danny waived his apology away with a hand. "It's fine. It was bound to come up sooner or later. Now will you answer my damn question?"

Stiles simply shrugged. The movement making him grit his teeth. Maybe he should refrain from moving for a few days. "I don't know where everyone is. Last I saw they were at the warehouse between Third and Elm."

"And your injuries?"

Stiles winced. "Hunters, who wanted information."

"What did you tell them," Danny asked. His tone wasn't harsh or accusing, just calmly questioning.

"I told them nothing. This was their way of reprimanding me for my misbehavior," Stiles tried with a scoff, like it was a joke. Danny was not buying it though. His face was tight, dark eyes searching Stiles face like he was searching for more answers.

”And the hunters?” Danny asked hesitantly.

Stiles didn't say anything more after that. He was afraid of letting Danny know more. Afraid of what Danny would do if he did learn more. So instead he kept his mouth shut. By the way Danny seemed to nod his head, the silence said enough. Stiles didn’t have to say what happened to the hunters. Danny already knew they would no longer be a problem.

Stiles was getting hot, his heart beating in his chest at the tense conversation. He still had on his shorts and long sleeve red hoodie over top a T-shirt. So he arched himself up a bit, unzipping the hoodie, before trying to shrug it off. It hurt to move like this, but he was burning up and needed to try and get more comfortable so as to not agitate his injuries even more. He was probably going to be bed bound of a few days and he knew that tomorrow his body would feel worse.

He was having trouble getting hoodie off his arms, the garment sticking to his T-shirt as he moved, trying to shrug it off while it was hiking up his front. It wasn't until he heard a sharp gasp that he realized how much his T-shirt was stuck to the front of his hoodie. He saw Danny's eyes wide as orbs, his mouth agape, his tanned skin going pale as he sat so still he could have rivaled a statue. Stiles looked down, seeing his shirt raised to reveal the large bandages on his stomach, the littering around the front of his torso. The mild burns were also on display, but not as noticeable. He made to put his shirt back down, but Danny moved before he could, stopping his arm with a gentle but firm hand. Stiles tried to not flinch from the touch, but he barely succeeded, sucking in a breath as Danny came close. It was pointless now to hide it anyway.

Danny saw the large cut on his stomach covered in makeshift bandages. There was a large line of dark red across the bandages, small drops of blood poking through the areas where the bandages were not. He and stared in horror. Stiles could only watch as Danny looked from the cut up to Stiles and then back again. Obviously Danny did not know how far the hunters had gone. But that was not the worst part. The worst part was the dark bruise on his side. The one that Stiles barely saw earlier, but was now there in full force for the world to see. the bruise just below the cut in his oblique, right at the top of his hip. Red and blue marks, extending out towards his belly button. They looked like weirdly connected ovals, all close together in a parallel pattern. They were the identifying marks of fingers. Fingerprints that Grant had left behind. Stiles watched as Danny's eyes became clouded, suddenly seeming even darker than they were a second before.

"I need to take you to the hospital," he said in a rush not looking away from the wound.

"No!" Stiles said quickly, his voice higher than it should be.

"What the hell do you mean no. If I had known about this, I never would have brought you home." Danny said forgetting about the wash cloth as it fell out of his hand. "What else have you not told me? What else did they do to you," moving even closer, getting out the chair to hover at his bedside, reaching like he was about to pat Stiles down, searching for more injuries beneath his shirt.

Stiles yanked back his arm, away from the hands, flinching as far as he could. He must have looked scared again because Danny froze. He looked at Stiles with rounded eyes, then looked down at his hands before quickly putting them back to his sides. Danny looked like he had burned Stiles. The guilty look crossing his features, making him look more sullen than Stiles had ever seen him.

"I'm sorry," Danny whispered.

"Danny, I can't go to the hospital," Stiles said brushing off the apology, not wanting Danny to look like that anymore. "If I go to the hospital, Melissa will know. She will tell my dad and then there will be more questions. Questions that I can't answer. Rather, questions I do not want to answer. He cannot know about this."

"Stiles you cannot expect him to not notice. He has to know."

"He can't. He is the Sheriff. It is his job to serve and protect. What do you think will happen once he learns there are things out there, things are supposed to be in nightmares, that he cannot protect people from? It will make his job even harder. I will not be the one to reveal this world to him. I want him to stay safe, and it is safer for him to not know about  _any_ of this." Stiles knew all of this. If he had to he would keep his dad in the dark for a long as he possible. He knew that Danny was right, that at some point his dad may find out. He would deal with that later. Right now he wanted his dad to stay safe. It was safer if his dad was clueless about about the supernatural. No one would question it. No one would go after him for what he did not know.

"But-"

"No Danny," he said firmly. "He can't know. Please!"

Danny stared at Stiles for a long few moments. Stiles felt his heart beating in his throat, like he was about to throw up. He was so exhausted and he hurt that all this adrenaline was making him dizzy. But he couldn't let up. He had to keep this from his dad. There was no better option right now. "Alright," Danny consented after his moments of thinking. "No hospitals."

"Thank you." Stiles had said gratefully, leaning back into the pillow behind him.

"But you need help," the boy said, making Stiles go rigid again. "You said Scott's mom knows about all this, she knows about the pack?"

Stiles nodded wanting nothing more than to close his eyes. "She's at the hospital though. She works the night shift and will not be able to come for hours."

"Fine then I can call someone else. Someone who can help." Danny was already getting up. He was pulling his phone out of his pocket, the bluish-white light illuminating the dimly lit room some, casting harsh shadows behind Danny as he held up to look at it.

 "Who?" Stiles asked gravelly. Who else was there that could help? Who else knew about the supernatural? "Who are you calling," he asked, trying to shake the exhaustion from his voice.

"I'll be right back," he said, heading towards the door. "It might take a bit. It is late, but they can help."

Stiles was unable to say anything else before his bedroom door closed. He vaguely heard Danny's voice on the other side, going in and out, his shadow passing under the door back and forth as he paced up and down the hallway. Stiles really wanted to know who he was calling. He laid his head back against his pillow, his body taking that as permission to relax more onto his bed. He clenched his jaw as his body pulsed as he sunk down some more. More and more, he tried to relax, Danny still passing back and forth outside his room. He was so tired. 

 

He must have fallen asleep.

The next thing he knew, Danny was shaking him awake gently. He sat beside Stiles on his bed, his hand on his shoulder. The light from his lamp was still on, slightly blinding him at the sudden light as he opened his eyes. When he met Danny's the boy gave a small smile. Stiles tried to return it, but instead he yawned. 

"How are you feeling," Danny asked him.

Stiles was confused by that question. Why would Danny ask him that? He had just shut his eyes for a few minutes. His body still ached, feeling warm, but aside from that he did not know what to make of Danny's questions. He was about to speak, when he Danny retract his hand, putting it back on his lap. He stopped then. It wasn't Danny taking his hand back that made him start to think, it was the feeling of the lingering warmth on his shoulder. He had felt the weight of the hand, the warm temperature, but he also felt the skin. It was a smooth glide when it moved, uninterrupted.

He turned to look at his shoulder, finding it bare. His pale flesh staring up at him like under the yellow light. When he looked down at his chest, it too was also bare, but covered with one of his blankets, only the top of his shoulder showing, the faintest evidence of the cut from his right collar bone to his underarm showing just at the top. Stiles must have looked on the verge of a panic attack because Danny was right there, his hand back on his grasping into his, coaxing him to breathe. Stiles locked eyes on Danny's. The fact that he had not slept for just a few minutes swirling in his head. No, at some point he had lost his shirt and he was not even aware of it. Stiles moved his hand under the blanket, feeling his stomach and chest. There was gauze wrapping around his torso and dressings on his chest, covering the large cuts. He had no doubt that if he looked there would be another one on the cuts over his shoulder blade. 

Someone had cleaned and dressed him. Someone had seen the damage on his body, what he had suffered through and he did not even know it. His breathing was coming faster, the edges of his vision blurring. He felt his blood run cold, his heart pounding in his ears. Sweat was starting to coat his forehead and slick his palms. Danny was still holding his hand, gripping it tightly, trying to anchor him. He was talking to him, Stiles couldn't put all the words together. So he focused on Danny's hand. Danny gripped his hands with both of his now, his thumbs rubbing into the back of his in circles. Trying to soothe him, trying to coax him to breathe. Slowly, Stiles focused on the fingers that were working to calm him. 

He tried swallowing, tried to take a deep breath before releasing it. He looked back at Danny who was nodding his again. His fingers still moving over the back his hands. His hands were like an anchor, holding Stiles to reality. Little by little, Stiles was able to get another breath and release it before doing it over again. Danny's voice joined his hands eventually, holding Stiles' attention, still trying to ease his fear. The boy's voice was soft, not urgent or commanding, but sounding like it had all the time in world. He told him it was okay, to keep breathing, focus on breathing, that he was okay. With the last few deep breathes, Stile's vision cleared out, his heart returning to a more normal beat, although still a bit faster. 

"It's okay." Danny said, still not letting go of his hands. "Just relax, I'll explain."

Stiles listened, letting his body relax just a little. The weight of Danny's body on his bed grounding him some more with the heat of his body wafting over him, helping to warm his and take away the cold sweat on his skin.

"Are you okay," he asked Stiles, eyeing him carefully.

With Stiles' nod, Danny sighed before letting go of his hands gently, but not moving any further away. "I called for some help. When I came back in you were asleep," he started, leaning back just a little, to look at Stiles more fully. "It didn't take long for them to come and immediately get to work. Your wounds have been cleaned and wrapped."

"Who did you call," Stiles asked, still sounding a little breathless.

"He called me, Mr. Stilinski." A voice said nearby.

Stiles turned to look at the voice just as Danny had, turning his body to face the new presence in the room. Deaton was standing in the doorway, wiping his hands on a small towel. His calm charisma wafting from him and his face impassive as he glanced at the two boys. His eyes were dark, seeming knowing, yet not unkind. Stiles could not help the momentary surprise at the vet's appearance. His stun was quickly replaced with anger in record time.

“You called him!” Stiles practically yelled, flicking his eyes to Danny before landing back on Deaton. He didn’t want to see Deaton. He didn’t want to be in the same room with the man. After what he helped Scott do, he wanted to haul off and punch the guy. Punch him in that damn expressionless face of his.

“Stiles, wait, listen,” Danny pleaded, turning back to him quickly with his hands up in appeasement, his eyes pleading. 

Stiles shook his head, despite it making his vision blur again. “No, get him away from me.”

"Stiles, he helped you." Danny pressed on as if Stiles hadn't spoken, already knowing what he would say. "He was the only other choice who could take care of you."

"I don't care," Stiles said bitterly. "I want him out. He is not welcome here."

Danny's face was a mixture of emotions Stiles couldn't begin to decipher nor did he care to. He did not want to take his eyes off of the vet. It was not because he thought Deaton would hurt him, but because he wanted to man to feel the full force of his glare, the full force of his pain. Deaton calmly stood in his spot, frown lines evident on his forehead and on the corners of his mouth. Stiles did not care if he was placing unfair blame on Deaton, after all the man was not a fortune teller. However, the man always had a knack for knowing more than he let on, for always hiding behind his charade of indifference and age-old snippets of advice. He never really trusted Deaton, but he never thought Deaton would go so far as to plan behind the pack's back without at least cluing them in just a little bit.

"What did you do," Danny asked glancing at Deaton, with some accuse in his tone. Stiles was proud of that if he was being honest.

The man said nothing to him. He didn't speak at all. He just looked at Danny like he was about to speak, opening his mouth only to close it again. 

"Oh please," Stiles said venomously, "let me tell him." Deaton said nothing, barely looking at either of the boys, just staring at the ground like a child who was in trouble. Stiles turned to look at Danny before speaking. "Our favorite vet here was helping Scott work with Gerard." Seeing Danny's eyes widen he continued. "Yeah, he was one of the hunter's who did this to me. Obviously seeing the perfect opportunity to _'question'_ me, in order to ensure that he knew all he could about the pack. So instead of Scott focusing on those around him, he helped him play hero."

"What," Danny asked turning from Stiles to Deaton. Deaton still didn't say anything, but he was looking at Stiles now, his usual collected face back on full display.

Danny looked like he was about to speak, but Deaton's voice cut him off before he could. "Mr. Mahealani, can you give us some privacy please."

Danny looked like he wanted to argue. Instead, the boy turned soundlessly to Stiles raising an eyebrow in questions. Stiles knew this conversation was bound to come. He was not happy that it came so soon. He was still tired and even after being cleaned and bound, his body still hurt. If he was going to do this, why not now? The quicker he got it over with the better. So he just nodded at Danny. Danny was rigid in the shoulders, but he complied. Danny walked past Deaton who stepped aside to let him out into the hall. Deaton closed the door behind him before turning to Stiles taking a slow step further into the room. Stiles was tense, being alone with Deaton. It was not that he viewed the man as a threat, given what he knew about the man, it was in anticipation for the conversation that was about to begin.

”Stiles," Deaton started slowly, his smooth voice quiet, "it was never my intention for you to get hurt. It was never my intention to lose your trust.”

”That would imply that you actually had it." Stiles replied bluntly. "I didn’t trust you before and I still don’t. After what you did, you’ll forgive me for obviously having good reason to.”

Deaton rubbed a hand down his face, the first sign of his careful control slipping from his features. ”I had no idea what happened to you. I did not have the forethought to think of the lengths Gerard would go.”

”Is that supposed to make me feel better,” Stiles spat angrily.

“It is supposed to help you understand.” Deaton replies sadly. “I will not deny my hand in Scott’s plan. I gave him an idea and he ran with it. It was supposed to deal with Gerard in a non-lethal way. That is all it supposed to be."

"Yet you failed to take into account of what Scott working with you would do," Stiles said matter-of-factly.

"I never imagined you getting caught in the cross hairs of Gerard’s desire for life and his madness.” The spoke with his eyes down, he hovered in the middle of the room, looking uncomfortable. Good, Stiles thought to himself on that. 

Madness was right. It described Gerard to a 'T.' The man craved power above all else. Power for himself mostly. His code went out the window out of his desperation to stay alive. He sought to become what he hunted. Never mind what it would mean for him in the hunting community. The way he saw it, the bite was his cure. Although the added bonus of supernatural powers was just the icing on the cake.

“So I shouldn’t blame you or Scott?” 

“I can not tell you how to think. I accept your scorn for what I did and the hurt and pain that has been inflicted on you in more ways than one.” Deaton said solemnly.

"It is not just what happened to me," Stiles said forcefully. "It is also what you did to Derek. You helped plan all of this without him. You planned to use him as the catalyst in you scheme, never mind what it would mean to him. You practically forced him to give the bite to a man he hates more than anyone in this world, apart from Kate, who happens to be the same man's daughter."

"I know."

"Do you? You had him give the bite to the man who oversaw the death of most of his family. You made him think he was giving Gerard a cure for his illness," Stiles yelled, his anger coming out full force. His body protested as he shot up in a sitting position, his vision coming in spots, but he brushed it off.

Deaton said nothing after that for a few heart beats. He glared at the man. If Scott was here, he would do the same thing to him. How could they have done this to Derek. He was pissed with Scott more on his own behalf, but with Deaton he was pissed with the man at what he had done to Derek, after his whole history with the Hales, this is what he does. He wanted to throttle the man for that. He supposed he should be angry at Deaton for Derek blaming Stiles, but his wasn't thinking logically right now. Derek had known Deaton for years, did he even think the vet would go this far? That thought made Stiles feel even more upset at Derek putting the blame of Stiles. Derek thought so little of him and it was tearing at him like claws would at flesh.

"How could you," Stiles said, no longer shouting. His anger was still there, but it was being replaced by hurt. Hurt for himself and despite his better judgement, for Derek also.

“What would you have done, if in Scott’s shoes? If the people you cared about were hurt?”

”I would have confided in the people I knew would never break my trust, the people I have given life for time and again.” Stiles said without thinking. His mouth was doing the talking, his brain supplying the words that came as easily as breathing. “I would not have become like him, lying and scheming in order to get rid of the problem. I would have placed my faith in those who I love.”

Deaton nodded, but supplied no other words to go along with it. Stiles wasn't done with his words yet. He had to let it out, let out before he burst.

"Obviously though, I am not one of those people. I am not pack. That was made clear not once, or twice, but multiple times this evening. And like a knife in the gut, it hurt more than you can even fathom.” Stiles said with tears starting to well in his eyes, he didn't care by this point. He was too exhausted to care. His emotions wound so tight that now that they were about to break apart, he was on verge of just letting it spill over.

“What else am I, besides the human with a silver tongue and a sheriff for a father, who I can keep in the dark about all of this, so they can do what must be done?”

“Stiles,” Deaton began looking like he really wanted to say more on this taking a steady step towards him, but stopping short before placing his foot down, thinking better about his approach, “that is not what you are. You are no disposable to them.”

”Really, then why was this done to me,” stiles asked pointing to his body. “You have seen my injuries. You have seen the ugly evidence of it all. Tell me why I was beaten and nearly raped when my friends care so damn much about me. Tell me where they were, since you seem to know so much.”

"I...," Deaton started and then said nothing. For the first time, Deaton's calm composure was broken to him. The look of sadness and guilt on his mocha features. He had nothing to say, at a loss for words and Stiles was privately happy about that. The truth hurts, right.

"Just go," Stiles said, holding his head up high, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Your job is done. Now I want to be alone."

Deaton didn't fight him on it. Deaton sighed, turning and heading to the door. He left the room, leaving Danny to come in, looking at the vet leaving, before coming into the room. If Danny noticed the threat of tears in Stiles' eyes, he didn't say anything.

"Stiles," Danny began only to be cut off by Stiles.

"Thank you, for what you have done for me," Stiles said, wanting to have silence. He wanted to curl up and shut the world away. Call it wallowing in his feelings, he didn't care. He has earned that right for one damn day. "Really, thank you. But I wish to be alone right now." When Danny didn't move, Stiles pressed on, feeling the weight of the tears stinging his eyes even more. He didn't want Danny to seem him like this. See how utterly broken he was. "Please, Danny," he pleaded. 

Danny looked torn. Like he had more to say, but he didn't know how or even what to say. Stiles could see the hurt cross his face, the sorrow in his eyes-thank God it wasn't pity-and the defeated way he held his shoulders. He didn't want Danny to see him like this, but was this any worse from what Danny already had seen. He has seen Stiles body. He helped clean out the cuts and burns. Wash away the dirt from over his bruises. He had already seen what was done to him, the evidence that would inevitably scar. What else was worse than that? Danny got a front row seat to the devastation that Gerard and his men had inflicted on him. Stiles had no doubt Danny heard the argument he had with Deaton, heard what had happened with the pack. It just made the whole current picture that was Stiles all the more sad and broken. 

So yeah, Stiles had the right to ask to be alone. He was grateful to Danny, but right now his emotions were about to pour out, although his body still ached, he did feel a bit better. Druid magic only did so much, he guessed. However, it did nothing for his mind, the memories that still came and gone like a damn slide show that he couldn't turn off. 

Danny nodded, still looking torn before turning to the door. Before he left, he did say something, his back to Stiles, hand on the door handle. His voice was low and quiet, carrying across the silent room like a fell voice on the wind. "I'm so sorry, Stiles."

He left then, closing the door to his room softly. That left Stiles alone. Alone for longer a time than he had since the day before. The day before school, before the lacrosse game, before his kidnapping and the woods and before the last moments with his pack. He did not realize how daunting it was until he finally had all of it come to him at once, but he couldn't go back now.

The past 24 hours, a harsh contrast to the one before. He needed this. He needed time and if he was going to spend it with tears running down his face, then so be it. So he left himself feel it all. He let it all flow like a dam broke and it all flooded out. Hot, wet tears poured from his eyes, he breathing coming quicker in heaves. The anger, the despair, the hurt, the betrayal, all of it pushed into those tears as they flowed. He stayed in his room, clutching his pillow as he released his tears. If the hours started ticking by, he did not care. He didn't have it in him anymore. 

 

 

Danny didn’t want to close the door. He didn’t want to leave Stiles. What happened to the skinny, overactive, talkative kid he knew? It was like a hard slap in the face at what he had seen. Even worse what he had heard. He never imagined it was as bad as this. Some part of him knew that having Stiles in the pack was dangerous, not because he was a liability-far from it-but because he  _was_ human. It is not rare for humans to be part of packs. Packs were often made up of more than just werewolves, Danny knew this, yet seeing Stiles over the past year, running around with Scott and Derek, now Isaac, Erica and Boyd, he couldn't help but notice some things.

Like how tired Stiles looked. How the bags under his eyes seemed to progressively get worse. Usually he would notice whenever something was going on, something that had the pack on edge, where it seemed they were all constantly moving, evading and seen in the oddest places that most teenagers should not be.

Danny didn't care about where they all were at times, he just cared if they were okay. He learned long ago that the supernatural world was unkind, harsh even, and he lost track of the number of times he kicked himself for not helping the pack, for not letting telling them that he knew, knew about it all.

When Scott and Stiles started acting funny, being seen around Derek Hale, Danny didn't pay it too much mind. Those two always got into trouble, but after seeing Derek hanging around, it was like an itch on his brain he couldn't shake. He knew about Derek, about the Hale family. He learned the truth about them years ago, before his parents left. The sheer heartbreak that man must have faced day after day after the fire, Danny couldn't imagine and a part of him went out to Derek. The man often looked like he was mad or indifferent about the world, often with a scowl on his face, yet there were times, brief times that those scowls would disappear. Like when Danny saw him with Scott and Stiles one day on the street. The small smirk he had, just a hint of it, making his features brighter. Danny couldn't help but smile at that, at the way Scott and Stiles were giggling with each other, most likely at something that they did or were thinking, Derek's smirk unbeknownst to them, but no less there.

Danny has kept in touch with what was going on with the pack through his sources. Often coming across bits and pieces of information himself, before eventually putting them together. He knew about Derek being the new Alpha, about the turning of the others three. Jackson was the biggest surprise to him though. His best friend, the boy he knew for as long he remembered, one day seemed to change. He became more secretive, often more aggressive in his movements and commentary. It wasn't until after Jackson asked him to work on some video footage of him sleeping that he got suspicious. Then through the grapevine the puzzle started to come together, telling him that Jackson was bitten by Derek, that he knew about the supernatural. Danny was over the moon with that. He thought finally!

He was ecstatic to tell Jackson everything, everything he knew and had known for years. He wanted someone else to talk to about all this. He at one point wanted to Jackson when they were younger, but he never seemed open-minded enough to want to understand. So Danny kept it hidden, did what he could to help Jackson turn the other way if things got a little too out there. Now that Jackson knew, he felt relieved that he did not have to do that anymore. Of course it all went to Hell, when he learned that something was wrong with Jackson. The bite was not going to plan.

He wanted to help even more then. Having tried to coax his best friend into telling him the truth. He tried through many means, yet each failed. He even asked Lydia if she knew, but after Jackson broke up with her, she was not willing to help. She tried her best to not care, but Danny knew better. He was forced to watch as the people he grew up with drifted into the very world he could not tell them about for years, still having to hide it from them, because to them he was still a clueless human who can't know, who shouldn't know. 

How could this all happen? After everything he had heard, everything he saw, Danny was at a loss. He felt even more helpless now, even though he felt relieved that Stiles finally realized that Danny knew about the supernatural, he also felt greatly saddened and powerless to help Stiles. For many reasons. He couldn’t believe Scott, of all people. He and Stiles were supposed to be as thick as thieves, always stuck to one another no matter what. For years they were practically all each other had in the way of friends. After Scott got bit that changed, more for Scott, but it wasn't like Stiles was going to give up being his best friend regardless of how popular Scott had gotten. The boy got Allison, co-captain of the lacrosse team, new abilities, Danny could understand the sudden rise in fame. To be honest, he was surprised Stiles had not been jealous. He was surprised it had taken this long for something to happen, where Stiles noticed how Scott had moved away from him. Danny could see it, the way he often left Stiles alone to be with Allison, the way he barely paid attention to him when he was talking. Lately, he had seen Scott around Isaac than Stiles.

Yet how could he do this? Stiles was hurt, in fact he had been getting hurt for a while, but nothing as serious as this. Bruises were one thing, but this was crossing a very fine line. Where was Scott then? Why had he not helped Stiles? Did he not care what this would do to Stiles? Where was Scott now that his best friend was seriously injured?!?

Danny headed downstairs, his anger and sadness, evident on his face he had no doubt. He walked down, about to head out the door before thinking better of it. He didn't want to leave Stiles alone, not with the injuries he had sustained. Yes, he knew Deaton had pushed a little magic into helping him heal, but Danny would feel better, seeing Stiles up on his feet again. So he would wait. 

And it looked like he was not the only one.

Deaton was still here, sitting on the arm of a recliner chair, staring out the front window. Dawn was approaching, soft pale light slowly coming into the dark house with each passing moment. It would still be another two hours before the sun would rise, but the sky was preparing, the black and dark blue slowly fading as the sun got closer to the horizon. Deaton's face was calm, but trouble. Danny knew him well enough to know that he was in deep thought. When Danny came closer, he stood against the threshold, separating the foyer from the family room, crossing his arms allowing Deaton to notice him. 

He saw Deaton release a heavy sigh before swallowing. He raked a hand down his face like he was clearing away the feeling of sleep. "How is he," Deaton asked, breaking the silence of the dark house.

Danny shrugged. "Given everything that's happened, how do you think he is?"

Deaton nodded, his face still the same old cryptic mask of no emotion other than understanding. Danny wanted to grit his teeth at the sight. Would it kill the man to show emotion for once? Maybe it would help with having a conversation with him. "He needs time."

"He needs more than that. He needs his friends. He needs his pack." Danny replied harshly. "This was never supposed to happen."

"You know by now, Danny, that this world is anything but predictable."

Danny was getting annoyed at this man's impassive tone. "That is not what I meant. Where was his pack? A pack is supposed to protect each other. Stiles was kidnapped and nearly raped and killed, where the Hell were they! I know Stiles can be annoying, I know he can be hard-headed and obnoxious, but he is loyal to a fault. Nobody would want to hurt him! Let alone kill him!" He felt his anger rising. His voice was showing it as it elevated in tone. 

Deaton said nothing. Danny knew what the answer was. They were too busy. Scott was busy caring about Allison and his mother, not wondering what would happen to his best friend. Derek was off trying to find Erica and Boyd after they left, he wouldn't think about Stiles. He supposed he should not blame them for being distracted, but that was no excuse. A pack was like a family, or at least it was supposed to be. They always stuck together, knew when help was needed. It was supposed to be a feeling that ran deep within them, the feeling of closeness, of trust, love, acceptance, protection. Was there any of that? Did Stiles feel any of that for them or they him? Or was this never a pack to begin with?

That is what Danny feared the most. There was no pack, probably never was. There was just a group of people, brought together in different ways, but never forming what they should to help and care for each other.

"They failed him," Danny spoke quietly. The weight of those words spilling out into the room, laying over everything like a tense blanket. Danny could feel the sting behind his eyes at the words. If he felt like this for Stiles, after all that he had suffered, he could only imagine how the boy must feel. 

"Yes," Deaton replied softly, for the first time laced with sadness in his tone. It caught Danny by surprise. He could see Deaton's mask still in place, but the man was now looking at him. His dark eyes deeply troubled, worried, and sad. "It does not matter who he is or what he is like," the vet stated. "You know hunters with no code will do anything to get what they want."

Those words rang with more truth than they should have. Danny wanted them to be false, but he could not fool what he knew.

"What...what now?" Danny didn't know what to do. He wanted to help Stiles. He wanted to help him heal, knowing that it was going to be hard for him, for a while. Yet he also wanted to go and punch Scott in his crooked jaw. He wanted to punch him for Stiles. Same thing with Derek and Jackson. He wanted to punch every single one of them. Jackson more for not trusting him to know the truth, even though he already did. What can he say, it's been a long night.

 Deaton took a deep breath before releasing and clasping his hands together on his lap. "I don't know." The man looked pained to say it but Danny figured that there bound to be a time where Deaton didn't have an answer. "Everyone is scattered. Last I heard, Scott was with Allison. Mr. Lahey was with Scott's mother. Ms. Martin was helping Mr. Whittmore and Derek," he stopped, his brow furrowing, "Derek was still looking for his other two betas."

"And Stiles? What will happen to him," Danny asked, looking up at the ceiling on instinct, hoping Stiles was at least getting some sleep, although he highly doubted it.

"I'm afraid that is up to him," Deaton followed.

Danny nodded. There was nothing else that could be done. Stiles was hurting and would be hurting for who knows how long. Maybe Danny should pay a visit to Scott and not only knock some sense into him, but also tell him what he has done. Tell him to damn well fix it. Stiles needed his best friend, he needed people around to help him. The only problem was Danny was not sure if Stiles would want that at this point. 

"Does he know," Deaton asked suddenly, startling Danny out of his thoughts.

Danny knew what he meant immediately. It made his body go rigid, like a shock went through him. Deaton was asking about Stiles, about a part of him that Stiles clearly was not aware of. Danny had no idea what happened with the hunters. Stiles was not exactly forthcoming with the information and Danny was not going to push him for more. The fact that they were dead was enough for him. That was all he cared about when he asked. He wanted to make sure those men got what they deserved. It was clear they had, but he had no clue of how. Stiles seemed to be holding something back from him. If he looked deeper though, he was able to sense it. Deaton was able to as well.

"No," Danny said, shaking his head. "No, he doesn't know."

"He will," Deaton said solemnly again. "Stiles is smart. He will find out."

"Would it be such a bad thing if he does?"

Deaton shook his head, getting up from the chair, folding his arms over his chest, looking down at the floor. "No, but he will need help afterwards. He should have help now, but he first needs time. It will only make things worse if he finds out this when he is not ready."

"And if he is never ready," Danny said, looking up to the ceiling again.

Deaton scoffed. "This is Stiles. Young Mr. Stilinski is stronger than he is given credit for. This night proves that." Deaton finished with a small smile. He too looked up at the ceiling, the same smile in place, a small glint in his eyes. "He will bounce back from this."

"So in the meantime-"

"In the meantime, he needs to work things out," Deaton said. "No one can tell him how to go about this. His life has taken a drastic turn tonight and time will tell how much Stiles will be able to handle."

Danny nodded. He didn't know what else to propose. Deaton was right. They could not force Stiles to accept everything. He needed to cope his own way. It still left Danny deeply saddened for the boy. He still thought about the way Stiles flinched from him as Danny reached for him. That was not like Stiles. That was not the Stiles he knew. He wanted to help him, but he had no idea how to go about it. He did not know what was appropriate and what was not. Stiles has gone through a lot of trauma, physical and mental even emotional in a very short amount of time. Normal coping and accepting practices would be thrown out the window with all this. One thing was for certain though, he would help Stiles, however he could. But there was something else.

"His life will never be the same," Danny said, allowing the truth to fill the space between the two men.

Deaton nodded, picking up his medical bag from the chair at his feet. He headed towards the door, brushing past Danny as he did. Danny felt the heat of his body and smelt the spicy aftershave and the smell of rubbing alcohol on the vet as he passed. Danny thought the man would not say anything else after that. Accepting the words as Danny had. When he stopped at the door, the door just barely cracked open, Deaton turned back, glancing at Danny with a melancholy face that surprised Danny into stillness.

"That is what saddens me the most." Deaton supplied, turning to leave and saying goodbye as he did, closing the door on the silent house and leaving Danny alone with a broken Stiles upstairs.


	3. Beginning of Making Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, mostly. What happens now after a traumatizing night? What will Stiles do? Who is there left to turn to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! This chapter is a little earlier than expected which I'm happy about. Okay I know this is longer than normal, but I couldn't help it, I had to get this all out in one go. Not terribly exciting stuff happens in this chapter but there is a lot of reflection of things and the beginning of what I consider a beautiful friendship. There is more to come and Stiles and Danny are going to be tested. Stiles especially! Thank you all for the love and kudos!!! I love reading your comments. I hope I am doing these characters some justice. This is a build to both hard and beautiful times ahead. Gotta start somewhere. Let me know what you guys think and want you hope will happen! Enjoy!

Derek was not okay. He was so very far from okay that there were not enough words to describe how he was feeling. He was angry, more enraged that it made his blood boil. He felt sadness that it would easily be translated to grief and it ripped through his body taking his breath with it. A sickening feeling joined them, churning his gut at what he had done. Betrayal added to the mix, singing every crevice of his body, leaving a deep ache in it's wake. But above all else, the one thing he felt the most, could only be described as...hurt.

He felt it like a weight over his body, pressing in on him. Diving deep into his chest, reaching into his soul. All these emotions, all at once, it was overwhelming. 

Derek did know what to expect when he woke up that previous morning, but he did not imagine this.

He could still taste Gerard's blood in his mouth, the glint of glee and smugness in his eyes. Derek hated the man. Derek wanted to rip the man apart but was unable to. A part of him felt immense satisfaction as seeing the blood ooze drip out him, making his body fight off the bite, ultimately making him sick, but another part of him wanted to sink his claws into the man, effectively ridding the world from his blight. Derek hated that he didn't get the chance to go after the man when he turned and ran. Instead he was focused on Jackson and then he became focused on Stiles.

Stiles. 

He felt a deep ache, like a chasm opening in his chest, at the name. How could Stiles? Derek trusted him. He trusted the teenager. Or at least he was really beginning to. It was no secret that the two but heads a lot, especially when Scott was around too. They did not always see eye to eye, but they were on good terms. Stiles annoyed the hell out of him sometimes, but Derek could not deny the boy's good heart. At least until tonight. He thought of all people he had around, Stiles would be the least to betray him like this. Stiles was smart, he had to know what this would do to Derek. So why did he do it?

Was it to get back at Derek for almost killing Lydia? Derek admits he did make a mistake. He owns up to that. Was it for all the times Derek pushed him against walls or growled at him? He couldn't pinpoint any time that would make Stiles want to really hurt him. The boy risked his life to save his. He dove into a pool and held him up for two hours to save them both when Derek was paralyzed with kanima venom. Why go through all of that if he was planning to betray him?

Derek growled as ran back to his place, fuming and enraged. He burst through his door, going to his train car and throwing over a little table and clawing at his makeshift bed, and the sides of the steel car, leaving his claw marks behind. He kicked and punched at the enclosure, ignoring the pain it caused him as he let his emotions out, his memories wander. 

He thought back over the past months, returning to when the pack was formed. Derek was a new Alpha. The power that surged through him was euphoric and indescribable. He was stronger, faster, he had better senses than he ever had. He was able to see and hear far better than he was as normal wolf, which he honestly didn't think was possible. He had heard that about it through word of mouth and whispers, but he never thought they were hold truth or at least not much of it. What he did not hear about was what would come with it. The urge to have others, to have a pack. Everyone knew an Alpha needed a pack. Without one, the wolf could become savage or fall into depression. They could become an Omega. He knew what an Alpha needed, but he never thought it was an urge, one that would grind in his bones, shake and beg him to do what he needed to feel whole, to feel stable, like himself again. 

So he bit a couple of teenagers. He thought that would solve the problem. But it only brought more. Bitten wolves had little control when first turned and the younger they were, the control was even harder to maintain. It was true, he did feel better, more like he wouldn't go rabid. However, he still felt detached in way. 

He tried with the teenagers. He knew they were young, but they needed to understand the cost of what their new lives entailed. He never regretted giving them the bite, giving them the choice. He was incredibly proud of them as individuals to take that leap. What he was not sure of is if they were able to see past their own desires, their own wants, in order to see the full gravity of what he was offering. The training he made them go through, the hard lessons, he wanted them to be prepared. 

Even as he thought back, he had seen the divide between his established pack and Scott and Stiles. The two friends often at odds with Derek and his betas. They were not at each other's throats, but they also did not see eye to eye. Derek had thought that once he had his betas, Scott would join him and be a part of the pack. He strongly refused to be a part of Peter's when he was Alpha and crazy, but Derek thought the teen would join him. Even after coaching the beta of a few things, helping him to understand he supernatural nature and abilities, he knew Scott still found it hard to no longer be human, but he never thought Scott would refuse him as well. Derek did not think about Stiles joining his pack, partly because he knew the boy would if Scott would. Maybe that is where he went wrong. Never actually considering to offer Stiles, thinking it was inevitable because of Scott. He knew the boy had doubts about himself even though he never really voiced them. It's probable that Stiles never felt useful or needed around Scott or Derek.

Derek begged to differ at the number of times the boy has saved them.

Yet the betrayal was like a blind side. Between Scott and Stiles, he would have picked Scott for betraying him first. Not both of them. Never both of them. Yet they showed their true colors. Scott couldn't have come up with such an elaborate plan on his own. Stiles was more cunning. It was obvious the pair had worked together. The whole time at the warehouse Scott said nothing and did nothing to justify his actions. Stiles did.

His argument with Stiles was painful. It wasn't like in the past where it was a mixture of friendly banter and annoyance. No this was fueled by hurt and anger. On his part anyway. He couldn't care less about what Stiles was feeling. During that time, Derek's wolf was howling and growling at him, telling him something was wrong, yet he ignored it. He pushed it down, in favor of trying to make Stiles hurt. Trying to make him see what he had done. He knew he shouldn't have said some things. Some were things he didn't mean, like Stiles not being pack or being just human. Derek's wolf was whimpering at that, which he still ignored. He noticed Stiles' look of horror and hurt and Derek took that opportunity to run with it. He poured as much venom and betrayal into his words as he could. He wanted to hurt Stiles like he had been. He wanted to rip away the trust and faith he felt for the boy crumble it into making it seem like he never had it.

When Stiles had told him to listen to his heart, that he could always hear his truth, his wolf agreed with him. Derek almost faltered then. He didn't hear a stutter or jump in his heart, but it was beating so hard and so fast that he couldn't be sure. Stiles was smart and cunning when he wanted to be, so he shook himself from that temporary stasis, and pushed on, making sure his point was driven home. 

It hurt him to do it, but it also gave him a minor sense of satisfaction.

Derek sat down on the seat of the train car, his bleeding knuckles in his lap. He was restless and swirling with emotions and unbridled energy that exhausted him. He was so locked up in his own head that he didn't take notice of Peter coming near. The man was calm in his stance against the train door, his arms folded over his chest. His expression unreadable.

"Well," his uncle said plainly, "I can see your sulking."

Derek growled and flashed his eyes at his uncle. "Get out Peter."

"So you can be alone to wallow in self-pity."

Derek was fighting back his claws from coming out. "Before I rip your head off."

"Look, nephew," Peter said, stepping in to sit on the parallel seat from Derek's. "I know you are hurting. I know you are angry. But sitting here doing nothing will help no one."

Derek looked up annoyed and spread his arms out. "Well then please. By all means tell me what it is I should be doing."

"Stop acting like a child," Peter growled back in exasperation, "and fix it."

"Fix what." Derek asked folding his arms over his chest. "There is nothing to fix. Gerard has been dealt with, Erica and Boyd are gone, and so is Isaac. What is left?"

Peter seemed to soften some then. His expression went from annoyed to sad. "Like I said. You fix it. You have made mistakes, I would know about making mistakes," the man said sadly, "Moping around and being all broody is not going to help."

"I am not moping around. I am pissed. Right now, two betas are missing and my pack is scattered."

Peter nodded. "Fine," he said. "What makes you think they will come back?"

"I am their Alpha."

Peter scoffed, getting up again to stand in the open door. "Like that amounts to much of anything anymore. Alpha's only have so much sway, they lose that sway when their betas drift away from them. When they no longer want to trust you."

Derek closed his eyes tightly, feeling his wolf wanting to take over and go out into the wilderness and run. Run from everything. It was howling in anguish and sadness. Derek was doing the same thing, apart from the howling. He felt it deep in his bones. "I am trying. They are young but they are learning. I am trying, Peter." 

His uncle's blue eyes shining with...sadness. It was something he had not seen on Peter's face for many years. The sight of the uncle he once knew very well. "If your truly believe you are trying hard enough, then what went wrong? Was this ever a pack?"

Derek stood frozen still. The words settling over him like a cold weight, chilling him from the outside in. Peter turned and walked out of the train station, heading up the stairs and out into the night. The words his uncle left behind were swirling through his thoughts. He wanted to shake them away, ignored his uncle as he had become accustomed to over the years. Yet, his mind ran away from him, taking those words with it. Was Peter right?

As he thought over his own memories, he realized that despite everything he has done, all that he has worked for...it did nothing. If anything, it made matters worse. Thinking back when they were all together, he could see what they were. Scott and Stiles, although friends were drifting apart although Derek didn't care to understand why, Allison was no longer in the picture after the death of her mother. As for his betas, they too were becoming more distant. Distant from each other and from him. Erica and Boyd stayed close to each other, having discovered they deeply cared for one another. Isaac fell away from all of them, connecting with Scott more and more as time went on. Derek refused to see it then, but maybe he had felt it, which was why he pushed his betas so hard. He pushed them to be better, to do better. He only now realized that he was pushing them further away from him, hurting them in the process. It was why Erica and Boyd ran. Why they ran from him.

It took his breath away at what he refused to see. Now it was all he could see. No matter how much he wanted to make excuses, he couldn't deny it. They may have been a pack at one point, or at least enough to get by. But now, they were divided. Some much more than others. The cold, hard truth was there was no pack. Derek felt an overwhelming amount of guilt at his hand in that.

He stood up then, shaking himself from his grief. He had to fix this. He lost too much already and whether they knew it or not, he did care for his betas. He had to find them and help them understand. He had to make it right. He wiped the blood from his hands and headed out to go to the Preserve.

He had his betas to find.

 

 

*** * * * * * ***

Stiles awoke to a sun filled room. 

He felt the sun just slightly on his wrist as it hung over the edge of his bed. The sun’s rays peaking through corner of his window under the blinds, warming the skin, radiating up his arm. His room was empty, undisturbed, and he could see the dust particles in the air in the sun’s light wafting through the air.

Stiles rolled over on his bed, avoiding his back, but just barely putting enough eight on his front to feel any of his still healing wounds. In all honesty he felt  his aches and pains, but they were not as prominant. Whatever Deaton did to him last night had helped tremendously even though he would not admit it to the man. 

He had no doubt the Druid had used some of his magic to help him heal, pushing it into his body to speed up the process considerably. On some level Stiles was grateful, but like he said, he didn’t want to admit it.

His head was buried in his pillow. He could smell his shampoo mixing with the salt of his leftover tears from the previous night. The gray pillow case was still a little damp and he could see little smudges or dried spit on the fabric from when he cried out in both anguish and pain. He had tried to muffle the sounds as best he could as the night went on, but he didn’t really care. No one was at he house with him. He sent Deaton and Danny away, wanting to be alone in the silence of his empty house. 

He didn’t keep track of how long he cried but, he figured, at some point the exhaustion and emotional and physical drain he felt was enough to knock him out. Stiles didn’t want to get up out of bed again, didn’t want to face the day, and most certainly didn’t want to face the truth of the previous night. A part of him was hoping everything was a dream, a nightmare. That he had woken up after a very traumatizing, vivid dream during his REM sleep and none of it was real. 

Of course that was foolish.

The left over bruises and cuts on his exposed arms were proof enough. Not to mention the ache that ran through his body. He felt better, but definitely not great. He had no idea if he would feel ‘great’ for a long while if ever again. 

He heard a thumpin going on downstairs. It alerted to him that his dad was home. He turned over to look at the clock on his nightstand, signaling almost 2 in the afternoon. 

Marilee groaned at the time, having slept for most of the day, but since school was almost over, he didn’t care. It was the weekend anyway. And what a weekend it is, he thought to himself. 

Feeling heavy as lead, he rolled himself out of bed, stretching his long limbs as best he could. The coiled, tightness of them making the ache of his body more noticeable, causing him to wince. He walked slowly to his door to head to the bathroom. No one in the hall was a blessing. He had no idea what his body looked like now, but he still didn’t want his dad to see. He stumbled to the bathroom, closing the door behind him, before looking in the mirror. He almost wanted to cry again. 

Not because he looked worse for wear, but because he looked...better! He still had his cuts and bruises, but they were not as bad. The ones on his face were still there, but looked days old. The cuts on his eyebrow and lip were thinner and scabbed over, no longer so much as scratches. His torso was still heavily bruised, but they looked more purpleish yellow, like they had a few days to heal. 

Stiles didn’t bother checking the larger cuts on his chest, gut, or shoulder blades. He would save those for later. He did poke around them a little bit, regretting it immediately when they stung and he had to stifle a gasp and whimper at the same time. 

Over all he didn’t seem to bad, which surprised him and made him wonder how much of Deaton’s ‘knowledge’ the man did use. He wanted to take a shower, get all the grime off himself, but since he body was mostly cleaned and bandaged from the vet, he decided to wait till later. If it meant he would not have to see the larger cuts on his body yet then that was a bonus.

He brushed his teeth and used the bathroom quickly before turning away from his reflection to head downstairs. He figured it was time to face the music of his father, especially after what happened last night. Now that he thought about it, he was surprised his father had not already barged in to get answers from him after he got home. That made him worry.

Did his dad know about the Jeep? Did Danny fill him in on what happened? What all did Danny and Deaton tell him? Why had his dad not made himself known?

stiles hurried down the stairs, finding the place empty. The foyer and living room void and any person. He could hear some clattering in the kitchen and he headed inside, expecting to see his father attempting to make lunch. He couldn’t help but wonder if his dad would even talk to him at this point.

The person he found was not his father. It was Danny. 

The boy was still wearing the same clothes from last night. He was rummaging through the top cabinets bringing out plates and then moving towards the stove, stirring some contents in a large pan. Stiles was surprised to see the boy here, moving around the kitchen like he had been here for years. The whole time his back was towards him. As Stiles stared, he could see the ease with which Danny moved, his ear the music playing softly from his phone on the countertop.

Stiles was about to say something, before not really knowing what to say. Danny beat him to the punch.

”Hey,” the boy said without looking at him or turning towards him. 

“How did you know I was here,” Stiles asked, ignoring the other questions he had going through his head.

”I heard you upstairs and heard the creaking of your stairs as you came down,” he said simply. All valid points. I guess you don’t need werewolf hearing to be observant, Stiles thought. 

“What are you doing here,” Stiles asked quietly. He didn’t want Danny to get offended especially after last night, but he was curious. Danny didn’t have to be here. He already did his due diligence and helped him last night. He didn’t need the boy to drop everything to keep an eye on him. While Stiles had questions about Danny and his awareness of the supernatural in the town, he still didn’t want to pry and make him feel like he was being interrogated. So why was Danny here?

Danny had stopped cooking to turn and look at Stiles. His expression was soft, just a hint of concern on his features. His dark eyes were unyielding, but kind. “I never left.”

Yet again at a loss for words, which is starting to become a common occurrence, Stiles just said, "Oh."

He didn't know what to make of that. What could he say? Should he say thank you? There was so much running through his mind that he has barely had time to file it all to work through on his own. With what happened to him, finding out that Danny knows just about everything, Deaton's visit, his guilt issues with his dad, and now Danny having stayed over night, it was all starting to stack up in a tower. He had no idea where to start to sort everything out. 

When Danny pushed a plate towards him, loaded with rice and mixed vegetables and strips of steak, made up in the dish of stir fry-Stiles barely remembering that all of that was laid out the previous day-he forgot about his problems and focused on one. His stomach was rumbling and his mouth was watering. The aroma from the food was delicious, so he pushed his thoughts away and took the plate to sit at the table, the afternoon light spilling in the window, warming him as he sat down.

Danny joined him with a plate of his own. He sat across from Stiles, the small table just giving them about four feet between each other. When Stiles started to eat, he couldn't help the slight moan that came out as his taste buds fired. Even if Danny was here, he didn't bother hiding the sound, simply enjoying the food. He earned that right.

Danny didn't seem to care, he just hid a small smile as he dug into his own plate. They sat in silence for a bit, each just eating. Stiles kept his eyes down, watching the sun that lingered on his arm on the table, illuminating his skin, and highlighting the hairs on his arm, making them brighter. He could feel Danny's gaze on him, but he didn't look up. The other boy was silent, but Stiles knew he wanted to say something, obviously not knowing how to speak the words he wanted to. After another few minutes of quiet, Stiles felt tense under the watchful eye of his classmate. He knew that Danny was not going to hurt him, but he felt like his skin was tingling from the attention, making him aware that he was not alone in the house.

"Thanks," Stiles found himself saying, moving the rice and vegetables around on his plate. He still didn't look up, but he did see Danny still in his eating. "Thanks for your help last night."

"You're welcome," the boy said. Another moment of silence followed before Danny spoke up again. "How are you feeling?"

Stiles rolled his shoulder, still feeling the ache run through his body. His limbs felt like a mixture of jello and heavy weights. He felt the pull of his skin where the cuts were. Almost like it was being pulled tight over his bones. The more he thought about his injuries, the more they seemed more noticeable. They were noticeable, but they were more than bearable now.

"I'm okay," he said honestly. It was a surprise, but he truly did feel like he was going to be fine. He knew it could have been much worse, what he walked away with, but he was beginning to heal. Or was it still healing since it appeared that his injuries were a few days old now? "I feel better. I still ache and it will take time for my skin to go back to normal, but it is better than it was."

Danny nodded, but he had a frown on his face. "That wasn't really what I meant."

Stiles froze mid-chew then. He looked at the boy across from him, taking in the straight line of his shoulders, the frown on his lips, the concerned edge in his brown eyes. Stiles knew what he meant. It wasn't just the physical part Danny was concerned about. If Stiles was honest, then no he did not  _feel_ okay. Not anywhere near okay. If he had to put it in words, it would be like he was screaming on the inside. He wanted to scream along with it. Stiles could feel the tears still within him, just itching to break free again. His entire body felt like it was waiting for him to break all over again. He was hurt, angry, grief-stricken, he felt...what? He felt like he was being ripped apart with each passing moment. If he looked deeper, he could feel a darkness, like a hole deep inside him, waiting to swallow him completely. He felt...hollow. 

Stiles swallowed thickly before answering. "I'm fine." Even he could hear the lie in his voice.

"You don't have to pretend Stiles," Danny said softly. "You went through things that were traumatic. It's okay to-"

"To what?" Stiles asked harshly. He pushed away the rest of his food, eating most of it, but forgetting about it entirely now. He was getting angry. He knew Danny was still trying to help, but why? He didn't want help. More than anything, he didn't want him to see him like this. He and Danny weren't friends. They just were classmates. They were on good terms, but there was not much of an emotional bond between them. Stiles didn't want Danny, or anyone, to see him like this. He was on the verge of breaking. He was battered, bruised, and cracking and he was afraid of what would happen if it all came crashing down. He vaguely felt the cold lick of a panic attack coming, but he was more angry than afraid.

"To feel hurt," Stiles continued. "To feel upset, feel angry. Ya think Danny."

Danny put his fork down, he body tense, but he was calm in the face of Stiles' rising emotions. "Yes," he said. "You have every right to be. So why don't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Let it out," Danny said, calming, leaning back in his chair.

Stiles shook his head, pushing back from the chair to stand. "I did enough of that last night. You were here right? I have no doubt you heard enough."

The sad look that crossed Danny's face made Stiles want to punch something. It was like seeing the himself in the mirror all over again. The sadness, the pathetic look of what happened to him. The pity. He hated it. It was only a matter of time before he saw the pity in someone's eyes. He saw the portions of it in Deaton's eyes last night, but he was too angry to take full notice. He could take the sad looks or the anger, but not pity. He has had enough of that. Ever since his mom, he had plenty of those to last a life time and he did not need more. Not for himself.

Danny didn't say anything to his comment. He was stonily silent and he barely moved, like he was waiting for Stiles to burst. "What are you doing here Danny," he asked, his voice tight and husky.

"I told you," Danny said crossing his arms over his chest, almost looking like a stubborn child.

"No," Stiles replied, "you said you never left. Why? Why are you here?"

"Because I am here to help," Danny said, his tone getting hard. "I want to help."

Stiles couldn't help the scoff that came out. He knew he was being an ass, but he didn't care. In the back of his mind he was glad for Danny, but he didn't want him here. Not to watch him fall apart.  "You don’t have to pretend for me. You do not have to drop everything you’re doing to be here. I know what charity is, Danny, and I frankly do not want it."

Danny's eyebrows went up. The shock on his face evident along with the flash of hurt in his eyes. He leaned forward again, holding up his hands in a placating way. "This is not charity Stiles. This is not about pity. I am here because I want to be. I _want_ to help."

Stiles could hear the earnest in his voice. Yet, he still was confused. If Danny was not here to take pity on him, then why? A part of him was in relief that someone was there with him, for him. The other was tense. He was partially waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was left alone. He had no pack, his best friend was uncaring about him, so who was left? His dad was no doubt avoiding him or going to avoid him for a while. His constant lying had taken a large toll on their relationship for a while now. So who was left? 

Danny stayed the night. He stayed the night, listening to the cries and wails Stiles had made of grief and anger. Stiles sent him away, wanting to be alone, wanting to be swallowed up so that his reality would disappear. Yet here he was, cooking for him and asking him to be honest about his well being. Wanting to help him, even though Stiles had no idea how he would do that.

"Why are you so eager to help me," he asked quietly. "God knows I haven't given you a reason to. We have never been close or really friends per say."

He regarded him with a look Stiles couldn't place. He clasped his hands together on the table, not taking his eyes off Stiles. "Haven't you?

"What?"

"Given me a reason," he said simply.

"I'm not following," Stiles said in confusion.

Danny sighed, pausing for a moment before answering, his kind eyes firm, and never leaving Stiles' as he spoke. "Believe it or not Stiles, you have given me many reasons. For starter you are good person. You put those you care above first with little regard to yourself, if last night is any indication on how you protected the others. Even though it is stupid that you did that, I respect and understand it." Danny paused just to take a breath. "You are incredibly smart, enough to rival Lydia of all people. You annoy me at times and you are hyperactive that it makes my head spin, but your energy is sometimes boundless that it's a breath of fresh air."

Stiles was stunned into stillness. He was not expecting all of that. He could feel a slight blush run up his cheeks. He was never one to take compliments without feeling shy. Danny didn't just mean those things as compliments, he was speaking plainly, matter-of-factly too.

"In all honesty," Danny continued, "if you would have me, I would like to be a friend to you. I understand if you do not want that and if you want time to reflect or be alone. I will not push. Just, you don't have to. Okay?"

Stiles looked away from the dark eyes. He could feel the sting of tears coming and he pushed them down as far as he could. He regarded the teenager with a hard look, trying to decide if there was an ulterior motive for his kindness. It was stupid, even as he thought about it. This was Danny. Danny was the most popular guy in school next to Jackson. He was more liked too. Everybody liked Danny. Danny was nice to everybody and understanding. He barely ever criticized and when he did, it was out of playfulness. Stiles had no clue how Beacon Hills could keep someone like Danny, but he wasn't going to question it. Stiles felt bad for acting like a douche earlier, but as Danny said, he had a right to. Danny was trying to help and he has already. The boy stayed the night, distantly offering support, even if Stiles didn't know it or want it. The very thought made Stiles want to choke out an apology. It was true that he had no one else. No one else to know what he was going through, except Danny. It would be nice to have someone to talk to, especially someone who knew about the supernatural world.

So Stiles swallowed hard, keeping back most of the tears, even if he felt his eyes become a little wet. He nodded towards Danny, offering a small smile along with it.

Danny smiled back, warm and genuine, before he pushed Stiles' plate back towards him in silent gesture for him to finish eating. Stiles obliged, sitting back down and eating his still warm food. They ate in silence for a bit before Danny got him talking. Stiles knew it was a way to distract him from his thoughts and he was grateful for it. They talked about school and about lacrosse. Eventually moving onto their likes and dislikes. Stiles was surprised to find they shared similar interests in music and books. They had different views on activities, where Danny was more active and physical, Stiles was more laid back and preferring to do let his mind do the activity. They joked on a few things, mostly about the supernatural, Stiles sharing some details on Jackson being a werewolf now. He told Danny about what happened when he the kanima, but kept it rather short, not going into a lot detail. Stiles got the feeling that Danny wanted to talk to Jackson, but did not know how to go about it. Their conversation went back and forth easily, the atmosphere being light and warm in the afternoon. Stiles appreciated that.

"You're not going to school on Monday, are you," Danny had said after a moment of silence later in the early evening. It was not a question.

Stiles flinched a little at the mention of school. Not because of the classes or homework like what most kids would be dreading, but because of what waited for him there. Rather who waited for him there. Stiles had so far gotten no calls or texts from Scott that day. His phone was dead silent all day. Danny's phone went off a few times, but he passed it off as just some of the other lacrosse buddies asking about having a little game on Monday since the season was over. Stiles doubted that was all, mainly because there were two times Danny looked at his phone when it went off. His face would turn down into a frown and then he would push his phone away without answering whoever it was. Stiles had a good guess who it was, but didn't say anything. 

If Stiles was being honest, he was planning on avoiding school. It was almost out anyway. They only had two days left. Yeah, it was stupid to have to go to school for two days of the week, but he didn't make the school year hours. What can you do? What he could do, was avoid the place though. He didn't want tot see Scott. He didn't want to talk to him or be in the same room with him. His best friend had worked with Gerard, gone behind his back to help and then betray the man. Not to mention Stiles was kidnapped and tortured and Scott had not looked for him, had not cared to look for him. Stiles knew where he stood in Scott's life and it was not high on the totem pole. So if he could put off seeing him then he would.

Stiles shook his head, confirming Danny's statement anyway. Danny nodded slowly, seeming at odds of what to say.

"You want to go see a movie on Monday," Danny asked, trying to lighten the mood again. "I hear the new Avengers movie is really good."

Stiles smiled then, nodding his head. He was glad Danny didn't push him to go to school, to face Scott or the others. He was glad Danny was trying to allow him to go about it at his pace. He could do that. He had to. If Danny wanted to help distract him and give him the opportunity to slowly feel more like himself as he healed, then he would grasp at that. He would fake smile until it started to feel more genuine. Fake it till he made it, he could do that.

 

*** * * * * * ***

 

Stiles spent the weekend with Danny. He had to admit it was nice. It would be nicer if his dad was around. He hadn't seen his dad. Rather his dad was avoiding him. Saturday evening, he expected to see his dad come home, but he never did. He was getting worried when his regular time of arriving home had come and gone. When it was long since dark, pushing almost midnight, his dad texted him and said he was staying at work, working a double. Stiles couldn't help but feel guilty at that. But he figured that his dad would come home in the morning and he would be able to talk with him then. 

He was sorely mistaken. 

His dad never came home. Instead he got a message sometime in the night that he was going to sleep at station, since multiple deputies were out and they had to make up for the ones that were killed by the kanima. Stiles could understand that, at least he tried, but he also felt even worse. His dad was doing what he could to avoid him. After the Friday night, his dad was mostly likely worried, but knew that Stiles would not tell him the truth. Stiles knew his dad well. He always lost himself in his work, dangerously so, even going so far to affect his health if he was really worried about something. He did the same for his mother and now he was doing it with his son.

Danny had come over both days, keeping him company. He left late on Saturday, waiting to see if Stiles was okay until his dad got home. Stiles hated the quiet after Danny left. He tried to tune it out with the TV, flipping through channels, but nothing worked. His mind kept drifting towards his dad. He was worried, but he felt unbelievably guilty at being the cause for his dad's avoidance. He knew the strain his lying has put on his relationship with his father. He wanted to fix it, to repair the damage, but he didn't know how without telling him the truth. He couldn't do that. If he did that then his dad would be in more danger. He was already a target for being an officer of the law and the sheriff, he couldn't add the knowledge of the world that was kept in the shadows.

At some point on Saturday night, he fell into a restless sleep, waking in the early morning from a nightmare. He was sweaty and felt icky, so he took a shower then. Finally being able to see the cuts under the bandages. They all had stitches in where Deaton tried to close them and let them heal with as little scarring as possible. The burn mark was uncovered, but he figured there was little to do with it but keep it clean and let it heal. Stepping into the shower, the warm water stung on his cuts, but he allowed the water to wash over him. He gently cleaned his aching body, but avoided the cuts so as to not open them. He patted himself dry and then re-bandaged what he could. He did a better job this time now that he had some rest and wasn't beaten blood and nearly senseless.

He didn't get much sleep that night, choosing instead to watch Netflix instead. The next morning, was just as silent as the previous night. Around mid-morning, he texted Danny, asking him to come over. He came over a little later after saying he was meeting with someone for a little bit before coming over. 

When he did, he came with a slight frown, but brightened it when he saw Stiles. Stiles however, didn't pass the chance to ask him about it. 

"What wrong," he asked, immediately seeing the sudden rigid look of Danny's back. 

"It's nothing," the Hawaiian boy said, trying to brush it off. The look in his eyes said otherwise.

"Danny," Stiles said in minor chastisement. 

"I went to see Deaton," Danny said quietly. Looking very much like a kid who got caught doing a bad thing.

Stiles had to admit that he didn't like it, but not for the reason Danny might think. He did not trust Deaton as far as he could throw him, but he wasn't about to prevent Danny from visiting the man, even though he was not aware that they were friends. He thoughts Deaton didn't have any friends, just injure animals to care for. 

So he shrugged. "Okay," he said. "Is that bad?"

Danny raised his eyebrows, but recovered quickly. "No, no I just. I had to ask him something. He also wanted to know how you were doing."

"Of course he did," Stiles said dryly. He headed back into his leaving room with the other boy behind him. They sat on the couch Stiles a little more carefully, being cautious of his cuts on his shoulder and gut.

"He gave me this," Danny said, handing over a little tube. It was unmarked, no label on its white surface.

Stiles twisted it in his hand a bit before opening it. Squeezing just a bit to see a minty green cream on the inside. It was kinda chunky, but it had smell earthy. The faint aroma of something like witch hazel coming from it. He recognized that smell from Deaton's place before. "What is it?"

Danny leaned back in the couch. "He said it's a special herb-based cream. He said to put it on the cuts and burn. Do not rub it in, but let it sit and absorb. He said it would help them to heal better."

Stiles wasn't sure about it. Given the fact it was from Deaton, he didn't want to use it just to spiteful. However, Deaton had never done anything to poison him before, not to mention he was a Druid. Druid knew about more natural remedies to help heal injuries. So he took the tube, but would think about applying it later. 

"Thanks," Stiles said, giving Danny a pat on the shoulder. The boy smiled some, but the same look was still in his eyes. The smile didn't reach his eyes and his features were still tight. "What else are you not telling me?"

Danny looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. His shoulder drooped, sagging further into the couch. He looked worried which in turn made Stiles worry. He had enough to worry about, he wasn't sure he could worry about something else.

"Erica and Boyd are missing," Danny said.

Stiles went still. The mention of the betas' making him shiver all over. He was temporarily back in the basement with them. Seeing their faces, the blood and dirt on their skin. He could still see the tears in Erica's eyes and hear the growls from Boyd's throat. Shaking himself out it before he fell to deeply, he thought about what to say. Danny didn't know about Erica and Boyd being there. He didn't know that they were being tortured with him. 

"What," he found himself saying.

Danny nodded sullenly. "Deaton told me. He said that Derek has been looking for them since Friday night. Peter had come by to check with Deaton to see if he had heard anything, even seen them."

"Has he?"

Danny shook his head.

"But I-." Could he tell him that they were there? Should he tell him everything that happened in the basement. He wanted to trust Danny with it. The boy was worried about it obviously. Stiles was silently cursing himself for not doing more for the betas. Instead of worrying about his dad, he should have been worrying about them. He felt guilty for forgetting about them. Even after he vowed to go back for them, he didn't keep that. He could blame it on being to weak and banged up, but that was no excuse when two of the people he cared about were still out there, weak and banged up.

He wanted to tell Danny the truth. At least enough about the betas. So he did.

He started off telling him what happened when he was on the lacrosse field. Being taken by Gerard and then taken back to the Argent house and strung up in the basement. He told Danny about Erica and Boyd, saying that they were weakened with an electric current going through their bodies as well as wolfsbane. He did not mention much about his torture, bu focused on Erica and Boyd, bypassing most of what he went through while Erica and Boyd had to watch. He could feel the his throat constricting as he spoke, even though he wasn't really saying anything about himself. He heard the little stammer in his voice. He finished telling Danny that Gerard planned to keep them and then kill them later. 

When he was done Danny was tense. His hands were in fists and his eyes were dark with rage. His jaw was clenched and his muscles rippled up and down his arms. Stiles thought he was mad at Stiles just now telling him about this, but when Danny touched his shoulder, gripping it gently, he spoke, "We will find them."

"I don't know if they are still there," he admitted.

"Deaton said that Derek was trying to follow their trail in the Preserve, catching some faints trails before he lost them and then picking them up again later." Danny explained. "Deaton said that they he and Peter have been trying to narrow down the areas they might be."

"Was either of them the Argent house," Stiles asked, looking at Danny.

"I don't know."

This didn't make sense. Any trace of their scent in the woods would be long gone by now. Even if they were in the Preserve earlier on Friday it would be not be there after the hours of them being kidnapped. Yet there were scents that Derek and Peter were following. Stiles pushed his thoughts away from the Alpha, his throat closing up as the man's face rushed past in his mind. He had to focus of Erica and Boyd. If their scents were in the Preserve, it was possible that they were there after their kidnapping. Did they escape after Gerard and his goons left, after they took Stiles out there? Were they able to escape to run? A small part of him was hoping they did and were running as far away as possible. Another part was saying that they would not run that far. They were part of Derek's pack. If they did run, they would go back to their Alpha. Yet, if that was true, then they still wouldn't be missing. 

Stiles needed answers. He needed to know what happened to them. He feared they were taken from the house and killed then hidden somewhere. Another part feared they were still at the Argent's and Derek and Peter were on a wild goose chase. Yeah answers were needed. Stiles had spent enough time not trying to help them. He had some time to make up for.

He made a choice right then and there, not seeing much else to do, but swallowing the bubbling up fear that was inside him.

 

*** * * * * * ***

 

Stiles had to get answers. There was only one way he could do it. He had to go to the source. Or at least he hoped it was the source. After finding out about Erica and Boyd yesterday, he couldn't get them out of his head. He couldn't wait any more, hoping for new information. He couldn't stop seeing their faces. Even in his dreams. They were always there. Every time he closed his eyes his mind was becoming more riddled with their faces. The look of pain and terror in their eyes as they stared at him. Tears pouring out of Erica's while Boyd's kept changing color from brown to gold. His nightmares were getting worse. The night he slept after he sustained his injuries and all was blissfully dreamless. He supposed it was his subconscious being too overwhelmed and exhausted from everything that he couldn't dream. Either way he was missing that. The past few night he woke in a cold sweat, his back plastered to his damp sheets, his hands gripping his blankets so hard that a small tear was starting to form on one of them. He would be breathing like he was on the verge of a panic attack and his heart would be like jackhammer, threatening to burst from his chest cavity and land in his lap.

It would take most of the rest of the night for him to calm himself down enough to feel any amount of exhaustion. He would barely go back to sleep, hovering between consciousness and sleep. Last night he didn't go back to sleep at all, instead heading over to his desk to do research, pulling up up to date maps of Beacon Hills and the county. Yeah, his nightmares were getting worse, and there was not much he could do about it. He would see Erica and Boyd, but mostly it would be Gerard and Grant that he saw. Their faces came first. Always they came first.

Stiles didn't go to school that day, deciding not too. He didn't want to see Scott or the others. No one stopped him, his dad having come home late last night after he was already in bed and then leaving early before Stiles even woke from his restless sleep.  He texted Danny before he was supposed to leave for school, telling him he was not ready. Danny was understanding and told him he would be over later after school. After their day together yesterday which consisted of more talking and lounging around watching movies or playing games, Danny left to go home after dinner, his dad still was not home. He made the decision to use today to get answers and he was going to hold true to that.

That found him walking towards the his destination. He parked his jeep a little ways down the street, hoping to not draw attention to himself. His destination was a house, a house that he knew well, especially after that night. He never imagined he would be back here, especially not willingly. He wanted to be anywhere else but here. It was like the place was looming over him, like shadow meant to land on him and engulf him, as he stood on the bottom step of the Argent's house.

Swallowing his fear and locking his jaw in a clench, he walked up to the door. Knocking on it with three short, hard knocks. A small part hoped that Allison would be the one to answer the door, but seeing as how he saw her leave a half hour earlier, heading to school, he knew that his hope was misplaced. When the oak door did open, he looked upon the man the house belonged to. The son of the man who haunted his dreams.

Chris Argent was surprised to see him, an eyebrow slightly cocked at him. He stood there looking at him with suspicion, but his stance was friendly.

"Mr. Stilinski," the man said, his deep voice laced with the same suspicion in his eyes, but no less kind. "Allison is not here. She left a little while ago. Shouldn't you be heading to school too."

"I'm not going," Stiles said, his voice wavering just a bit. He swallowed again, before clearing his throat. "I am not here to see her."

"Oh," Chris said, his scrutinizing gaze running over the boy before him again. "What can I do for you?"

"I am here for Erica and Boyd," Stiles said happy that his voice didn't waver this time. "I want to know where they are."

Chris didn't say anything for a moment. He then stepped to the side, opening the door wider to allow Stiles inside. Stiles' heart was fluttering in his chest and his palms were sweating. The looming house was even more looming and intimidating as he was given the option to enter. He didn't want to go in, but he figured it was better to talk in private than in the open where people could watch. However, he was tempted to keep this on the front of the house for the very reason that people could see, especially if Chris decided to hurt him in any way. Chris, though, had never showed any real animosity to Stiles, pretty much ignoring him. There interaction with each other was low so at least he could draw conclusions from that. He doubted Chris would actually harm him, but then he thought the same about his former principal. 

Even still, he needed answers. He wanted to find Boyd and Erica. 

He stepped inside. The large foyer was nice, showing classical architecture of the era it was aimed for. He didn't notice before, but then people tend to not notice small details when they are kidnapped and beaten before being taken to their execution. 

Chris stood to the side after closing the door. He indicated with his head for Stiles to follow, leading him to the kitchen. The man had a cup of coffee on the counter which he took upon re-entering the room. A newspaper was sitting on the counter top, open and waiting, where Chris also left it. It was a huge kitchen, made his at home look half it's size. It was nice too, with stainless steel appliances, white oak cabinets, and dark granite counter tops. It kinda made him jealous.

"I am afraid," Chris said drawing his attention to him as he stood with his coffee, "that I do not know where they are. I let them go in the Preserve and have not seen them since."

"So you did let them go," Stiles said, his thoughts of the two betas. He was feeling hopeful, glad that they were no longer bound and gagged. Relief was swelling in him at the fact they were not here. But it still posed the question of where they were. When Chris nodded, Stiles continued. "So where are they? Why have they not come back. People are looking for them."

"Like I said, I don't know. I left them in the Preserve to head where ever they wanted. I would have thought they went back to Derek."

Stiles swallowed at the mention of Derek's name. He didn't want to think about the Alpha. He has not seen the man since they all helped Jackson. Has not seen the man since he cast him out of the pack, if he was even a part of it to begin with. 

"Why should I believe you," he asked looking at Chris hard.

The man shrugged taking a drink of his coffee. "You don't have to. I have my code, I live and stand by it."

"Like your father did," Stiles asked with a hint of venom.

Chris frowned. Deep lines plagued his forehead. It made him look older than he was. Obviously this life, the life of a hunter, was hard. Stiles didn't care though. He didn't trust Chris, he didn't even trust Allison. He knew about Erica and Boyd being kidnapped by Gerard, but he also had help from Allison. Allison how shot arrows into them, helping her grandfather with his plan. Even if she didn't know about his plan to involve Stiles, she helped to harm her own classmates. 

"I will not make excuses for my father. He has had his own agendas for as long as I can remember. We used to live by our code, our honor of what we stood for. Even if my father does not, I still do," he said slowly, his voice slightly sad at the mention of his father, but strong nonetheless. 

Stiles nodded, taking in the fact that Chris was willing to stick with his code. The honorable code of the hunter, the one his family was supposed to always honor. Where had Gerard gone wrong? Where had Chris gone right under Gerard's tutelage? 

"So I'm supposed to believe that you had suddenly grown a conscience," Stiles asked, trying to hold onto more hope than he felt.

Chris shook his head. His expression grim. "I don't really care what you believe," he stated. "I will not get involved in this any further. I have to work to undo the things my father did. The betas are not my problem."

"How do you figure," Stiles asked. He was getting annoyed with righteous attitude Chris was using, while also pretending to be selfless. If the man was willing to fix things, shouldn't he start with this? "Considering it was your father who put all this in motion, I'd say you can help to undo it."

Chris glared at him. "You think so," he said tensely. "If I recall the rumors correctly, the betas ran from their Alpha, in hopes of leaving the territory. Hale, is not a good Alpha, despite what he thinks or even what you think." Stiles felt his eyebrows rise at the new information. Erica and Boyd were running from Derek? Chris kept going, not caring about Stiles' stance change. "Hale was never meant to be an Alpha and he knows it. He is going about this as he thinks. He has taken a group of teenagers and turned them, teenagers with little control on what they are, with little knowledge. If Hale has proven anything, well it was that he is just as lost as his betas."

Stiles shook his head. "But at least he is trying. He is trying to find them. Set things right," he replied. He didn't know why he was defending Derek. It wasn't his place to. He wasn't pack so why should he. Maybe a part of him was still trying to justify the Alpha's actions or maybe it was because he couldn't stop caring about the pack. He did still care. Otherwise he wouldn't be trying to find Erica and Boyd. He wasn't trying to find them for Derek though, that much he did know. He was doing this for them. He may not have been able to help them that night, but he certainly would now.

"What good is making up for past mistakes if we plan to do nothing," he asked the man before him.

"What do you plan to do," Chris asked rather sarcastically. "You are just a teenager yourself. You are human. You shouldn't even be part of this. That was the first mistake the Alpha and your friend Scott had done. Letting you tag along, knowing full well what the dangers entailed."

Stiles frowned. "You think I don't know how useless I am. Thanks for pointing it out." Stiles tried to not let the hurt show on his face. "I am in this for my friends. I won't walk away and let others get hurt. I won't walk away even if there is nothing I can do."

"Unwise choice," the hunter said. "As much as I respect that fire inside you, you will get yourself killed."

Stiles knew he was right. It wasn't the first time someone had told him that. Mostly it was Derek who told him, usually accompanied with growls and flashing eyes, but still he was aware of his soft, humanly nature. He didn't have any supernatural abilities to fight with or help when the others needed it. Scott did all of that and so did Derek. He was left on the sidelines. He was mostly called upon for research purposes. He was only along for the ride. He was a tag along. Scott was part of it all because he was a werewolf. Stiles was not, he was just his friend, and he had lost that now too. Scott didn't see him as someone he could trust nor as someone who cared about most to include or protect from all this. He was human and just in the way according to the rest of them. Of course that didn't stop Stiles from throwing himself into the thick of it, hoping to help his friends stay alive. Danny was right in say he cared too much without regard to himself. It was true.

It wasn't that he didn't value his life, he did. He just didn't want others to get hurt, especially those he cared about. He was human seriously outmatched in this world. He had nothing to protect himself with beside his mouth and his baseball bat. It was also his mouth that got him into trouble a lot of times too. Maybe he should stay out of it. Maybe he should just throw down that bat of his and back out. Yet as he watched the man, the hunter, in front of him his brain came up with something else.

"Train me, then."

The comical raise of Chris' brows would have been funny, but Stiles was not laughing. He was dead serious. He had had enough of feeling just human and useless. "What," Chris asked.

"I'm serious, train me." Stiles said, clenching his jaw. "Teach me to fight or at least defend myself."

Chris shook his head, taking another sip of coffee. "I was going for you staying out of it. Not giving you a means to run in head first."

"That is not why I am asking. You and I both know that I will not turn tail and run," Stiles replied strongly, feeling himself get lighter at his choice. "Whether I like this or not, I am a part of it. I may not be a part of the pack and I may be human. I am willing to help people who cannot help themselves. Myself included." _It is time to make some changes,_ he thought to himself.

He had no doubt Chris heard his claim of no longer being pack, but he didn't say anything. The man had a crease on his forehead, like he was thinking deeply. His features were hard set, serious and stern at the same time. "Isn't your father the Sheriff."

Stiles rolled his eyes, getting frustrated with having his father brought up. "My father is not of concern here. He can't help in with this. He knows nothing about this world and that is how I want it for now." 

"Why now," Chris asked while he studied him. "Why do you want to learn now?"

In frustration and exhaustion Stiles made a decision. One decision that he hoped to never had to use again. He knew it was being harsh, but he didn't care. He wanted to get his point across and there was one way he could do it. "So that _this_ does not happen again." He said as he lifted his shirt, revealing the bandages and bruises that were still healing.

Most of the bandages were gone now, but the cuts remained, holding together with their stitches. They would always remain. The only bandage left was the one over the deepest and largest cut on his cut. The one on his chest was on display, already healing to be a pink scar when it was done. The bruises still littered his body, but they were a little less purple and more yellow and green, turning his skin slightly sickly. His body was speckled from them. The burn mark on his side from the odd taser gun Gerard used was still there too, going to scar as well. It was red and yellow, healing slowly. It was leaving a line of burnt flesh behind, where the current ate away at his skin. He bared it all to Chris, letting him see what he endured.

Chris was startled. His eyes went wide. He set his coffee down, turning fully to look at the devastation that was Stiles' healing body. When the man moved forward a step, Stiles flinched back, his shirt falling from his hands to cover himself back up. Chris didn't miss the flinch, he was trained not miss such things.

"What-what happened," Chris asked slowly, softly like he was trying not to scare him.

"A little parting gift," Stiles said, straightening his shirt. He looked at Chris square in the eye, letting the next words go with hatred burning in them. "From your father."

Chris went pale after that. Stiles figured the man didn't know about what Gerard had done. No one knew except Danny and Deaton. So obviously Gerard's son wouldn't know. What Stiles found strange was that the hunter didn't try and deny it. He didn't try to defend his father or blame Stiles for running with the pack. He didn't even blame Jackson. He looked to be sick. There was no doubt that it was not supernatural inflicted wounds. The wounds would be messier, more erratic. Not to mention more cuts if the man thought Stiles had roughhoused with one of the wolves. The burn mark and too clean cuts were indicators. Chris did not say anything, but his face said it all. He looked like he wanted to be angry, angry at his father, and then sick, sick at what he had done. Chris didn't ask what happened or how Gerard had done all this. Stiles figured the man did not want to know, probably making it worse in the process. When the silence between them became so deafening that Stiles could hear his heart thumping in his ears, the man spoke.

"Why ask me? What makes me the best choice to ask?" He voice wavering slightly at the end. 

Stiles raised his head defiantly, taking a deep breath before letting it out. Letting out his residual fears to tell the man exactly what he thought. "Because given everything, you owe me that much."

Chris met Stiles' eyes, blue eyes meeting his amber-brown ones. Chris was clenching and unclenching his fists, his coffee forgotten on the counter. His posture was stiff. If Stiles didn't know better he would have thought the man was shaken with the news. With the depths of how far his father had gone. Stiles couldn't care less. This was not for Chris, this was not for the pack. This was for him and for the two betas out there. He wanted to help find them, but he needed to learn how to help himself first. Who better to learn from than someone who learned from man who gave him his scars?

Seeming to shake himself from his internal struggle, Chris looked up at him. Resign in his features. ”We start tomorrow.”


	4. Cue Recklessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is day one of training, what will Stiles experience? Will he take anything away from it? Also what else lies around the corner?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup everyone. Got another chapter for you. Yes its long and yes it has some details that are important for later. There is some action in this one and I hope its vivid enough for you for now. This is just the start to get the ball rolling. Once again, thank you all for the love and comments. Please keep them coming and let me know what you think! I am ecstatic that you enjoy this as much as I do. I love writing this and I am thrilled that you all want more. It is one reason why my chapters are so long, I can't stop writing or find a good stopping point! LOL Much love to you all. Stay tuned for more action, explanations, drama, and bonding!!

Training was not as bad as Stiles thought it would be. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that the first day would consist of him learning how to shoot with arrows or fight with knives and swords, but he didn’t expect being pushed outside at the crack of dawn with a punching bag set on the ground that weighed more than him. 

“Are you sure this is what you want to do,” Chris has asked at the beginning of the day when he arrived. 

Stiles had arrived about ten minutes before heading up to the door, parking his jeep around the corner between two other cars on the side of the street, not wanting anyone to notice him at the Argent's. Stiles still felt his gut twist at the sight of the house, but he didn't falter. He had to get used to it. He couldn't let the sight of the house undo him and break his carefully composed outer shell. He woke up early that morning, not because of his excitement to get started but because he had another nightmare. This one ended with him shaking awake, almost toppling off his bed, his sheet wrapped around his body wet from his sweat. He had tears in his eyes which he hastily brushed away. He spent a half hour controlling his breathing and trying to shake himself from the edges of a panic attack. When he was able to move from his bedroom floor, he went to his computer, refusing to go back to sleep, instead pulling up Hulu. 

When he decided to leave for the Argent's, he saw his dad was already gone. Shaking his head and burying those emotions for later he headed out, grabbing an apple from the kitchen as he did. He skipped the last day of school (hey he's already missed quite a few other days this year, why not miss the two days where nothing ever happens), his GPA was still high, so who cares if he skipped. If he was actively avoiding his _used_ -to-be friends then that was a plus in his book. He had no texts from Scott or anyone yesterday besides Danny. They originally were going to go the movies, but decided against it in favor of staying in to curl up on the couch, watching sitcom re-runs.

It was nice and Stiles found that he liked having Danny around. The tech genius was easy to get along with and he found there were things he didn't know about the teenager. They shared similar interests and had a taste for good comics. Conversation was easy and it made Stiles feel a small sense of normalcy. After Danny's confession about Stiles and wanting to actually help him, Stiles had to do a double take. He was surprised at the force of Danny's confession, the sheer honesty. He never thought badly of Danny-the boy was nice to everyone for heaven's sake-but he never thought Danny would willingly want to spend time with Stiles or even be exclusive friends. It was still a shock, but Stiles liked it. He was willing to give Danny a chance. He welcomed it actually. 

He had the sneaking suspicion that Danny was avoiding Jackson after the whole Kanima thing, especially since Stiles found out that Danny knows the truth about everything, but Stiles wasn't going to ask why. It wasn't his place. He was glad for Danny's company. He did want to trust Danny, but that was something he found he was struggling with right now. So for now, he was content with Danny being around. He had to have time.

Walking up to the house, he noticed Allison's car wasn't there which made his plans much easier. He didn't want anyone to know what he was doing. That was something he needed to tell Chris when he got the chance. He got distracted from that thought when Chris opened the door, his features set in a frown, bags under his eyes indicating he either didn't get much sleep either or he was not a morning person. 

Stiles didn’t falter in his answer, having made up his mind from the moment his brain thought it up. The more he thought about it, the more he believed this was the right choice. He wasn’t just doing this for himself, but for any future problems. Stiles has had enough of feeling like he was incapable of handling himself. Supernatural trouble is one thing, but it wasn’t the supernatural that kidnapped him. It was humans. Humans who had beaten him. Humans who almost killed him. Humans who almost...

stiles shook his head free of those thoughts. His unconscious mind was riddled with Gerard and Grant’s faces enough. Every time he closed his eyes, they would appear, no matter how much he avoided thinking of them during the day, his mind would make up for it when he was asleep. It made his skin crawl and his heart quicken just thinking about them. He could still feel Grant’s hands on his hips and it made him want to slice off his own skin to get away from those phantom hands.

Stiles had nodded his affirmative, ready to begin.

The morning consisted of him going through motions, mostly warming him up with stretches to start with since he was still a little injured. His body was healing quicker than he suspected. The cream Deaton gave him through Danny was magic in a tube. His deep gashes were no longer gashes, but cuts that were pretty shallow now. The burn was healing now a bright pink slightly jagged line rather than an angry raised red mark. The stitches were still in the cuts to help them stay closed so the cream could heal them, but there was no doubt Stiles would have scars. 

He expected that from the beginning. Scars that would forever mark him or what he went through. A reminder of what that night was like for him.

Going through the motions slowly he tried to loosen up his stiff body. Eventually Chris lead him over to the punching bag, intending on starting him with that. At Stiles deadpanned expression, Chris rolled his eyes.

”You didn't expect to start handling weapons or learning to kickbox straight away did you?”

"Well," Stiles drawled. "No. But it would have been a nice switch for once."

Chris had the audacity to look exasperated. Stiles couldn't help but think the man was second guessing his agreement. "You need to learn the basics first. Right now, you need to build up strength and balance. Boxing will help with that," Chris said folding his arms over his chest. When Stiles just stood there, looking at the punching bag, the man rolled his finger in a 'get a move on' motion.

Sighing Stiles undid his light jacket and threw it on the ground. Slipping on the gloves that only cushioned his knuckles, he flexed his fingers to get a feel for the fit. When he looked back at Chris, the man looked bored, but expectant, waiting for Stiles to start. Stiles had never done this before and he kind of felt insecure under Chris' scrutiny. It wasn't for the lack of trying. His dad did get him enrolled in karate once and also tried to teach him a few self-defense moves when he was younger, but Stiles could never sit still long enough to pay attention nor could he focus enough to continue it for long before he got bored. Often times when he should be concentrating, his mind would wonder to whatever, breaking his focus on the task and making him want to stop. He couldn't do that this time. He had to focus. This was his choice.

He roped Chris into doing this, mostly out of guilt for what his father did to him, but he couldn't back away now. The man didn't have to agree, but he did. Chris was willing to teach him. If he was doing this, then Stiles would make sure he actually learned something.

So Stiles moved forward towards the bag, taking a deep breath before swinging his fist forward. The jolt he felt as his closed fist connected with the bag was surprising. He felt it vibrate up his wrist and into his arm, through his shoulders. The bag moved just a little, before sitting still again. It felt good, Stiles had to admit. Just the action of it. Using his body to move something, but also feeling it as it gave way. So he tried it again, connecting with the bag to make it move. The same vibration going up his arm. He felt lighter with each punch.

It was surreal yet grounding at the same time. With each punch, he could feel his insecurities disappear. After a few moments, Chris would speak telling him to move his legs, circle the bag, but not to stand still, which was good for Stiles. The moving of his legs allowed Stiles to relax more, quieting his mind from telling him to move more, to keep moving. So he followed it, moving around the bag, punching it as he went. Chris would speak out a tip and Stiles would follow. Usually consisting of moving his feet more, do not cross his feet while stepping to the right or left, stepping with his right foot when he punches with his right, vice versa with his left. He would tell him to flatten his fist more, making the connection more firm giving it more power. Each tips making it both harder and easier.

Eventually Chris came over to stop the bag from moving. He held out his hand to hold off Stiles from making another punch. He regarded Stiles for a moment, assessing him in a way. Stiles was breathing a little heavier, but he felt fine otherwise. His body didn't ache from his injuries and he barely felt the tug of the stitches on his cuts as he moved his shoulders so that was a plus. He would have to get the stitches out soon, however he would do that himself, he did not want to see Deaton. Pushing his thoughts away from the vet, he focused on Chris who was speaking now.

"How do you feel," he asked honestly.

Stiles shrugged. "Fine," he replied. "I've never done this before, so if you're going to point out my shortcomings to this, then save it."

Chris gave a small crooked smile. Stiles was shocked. He never saw Chris Argent smile. It was always like a hunter smile he saw. A mixture of condescension and wolfish. Stiles thought of the irony at the hunter picking up some of the wolves habits. 

"I can see you haven't done this before," the man said. "But that is why you want to learn is it not?"

Stiles didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Chris nodded to himself, his face no longer smiling, but his eyes bright in the morning light. It was cooler out, chilling Stiles' heating skin, which helped to not over heat him. Chris moved the bag to be between them both, holding it with both hands. When he looked back at Stiles he was serious again, schooling his features into that of an almost reluctant teacher.

"That was just a warm up of sorts, letting you get a feel before the actual motions."

"Or you were testing me to see if I would move the bag," Stiles muttered under his breath.

Chris pretended to not hear him. "I was watching, to see how much you actually know. You need to remember to breath between punches. Breathe in between punches, and out as you jab forward. Your punches lack power because your breathing is all over the place."

"Okay," Stiles nodded. 

"Another point is your punches in general." At Stiles annoyed look, Chris continued. "You need to save your energy the best you can, which means no long punches unless you make them count. Also, keep yourself centered, do not move unless you have to." Chris stepped to side and back to give himself room. Stiles watched as the hunter raised his hands up to his face, keeping his hands loose, before thrusting forward with his right, connecting to the bag and making it move. He brought his hand back quickly to jab with his left, pulling it back to do it again before switching to his right in quick succession. With each punch, Stiles could hear a puff of breath as Chris breathed out as he connected. The bag rocked with each punch. When Chris was done he stepped back, lowering his arms. "Jabs are meant to be fast, allowing you to reserve your energy longer. Keep your arm straight by tightening your muscles in your arm and your fist tight as you punch.  and switch it up between both hands."

Stiles nodded, showing his understanding. When Chris waved him to demonstrate, Stiles did. He punched with his right, jabbing the bag, tensing his muscles as he did so. His breath whooshed out of him as he released his punch, before quickly inhaling before pulling his arm back to switch to his left. Chris watched him for a few moment, allowing him some time to become acquainted with the quick movements and the centering of his body. Breathing between his punches was difficult. He had to remember to keep at that, finding himself wanting to hold his breath as his fist connected. That was a habit he had to remember to stay away from. 

"Good," Chris said, stepping up to the bag again to stop it's jostling. "Next up, is your right cross, or right hook. With the jabs you don't expel too much energy giving your cross more power. But you also need to rotate your body. It cannot come from just your arm alone. When you punch, rotate your hips and upper body, move your right foot in a pivot, pointing in the direction you are punching.Switch and do the same thing with your other hand. Breathe the same way you do with your jabs. Exhale on punching, inhale when you pull back." 

Again Chris demonstrated. Stiles watched as carefully as he could. Chris punching the bag, rotating his hips and right shoulder to provide momentum and strength to the punch. Stiles saw his foot move and his upper body did, everything pointing towards the bag. As he connected, the bag lurched back, almost falling over before springing back up in time to meet Chris' left fist. His body twisting again, left foot moving with his left side. He demonstrated it two more times, before going slower. This time breaking it up into three parts. He started at the beginning, calling it step one, where his stance was firm and his fist pulled back. Then went to step two, moving his hand to press against the bag, his arm straight and firm, his hips turned, his foot pivoted. Lastly was bringing his hand back to where it was in step one. He stepped back allowing Stiles a go. 

Stiles tried his first time, however as he twisted his body, his foot didn't quite want to follow, making his punch run off to the side. It made contact, but it didn't have much power. Stiles pulled back, regaining his balance, looking at the ground sheepishly.

"Try again," Chris said, behind him. "Focus on your body giving you momentum as you aim."

Stiles breathed deeply. Trying to shake off his temporary clumsiness. Stiles continued, trying to remember where to point himself, focusing on the turning on his body and the tightening of his arm right before he made contact. He hit the back dead center, but it didn't move much more than it his normal punches. He couldn't help the disappointment at that, but he kept going. He tried again with his right hand before switching to his left, each one connecting, the bag still not moving past a little dip before wiggling back straight up. Stiles felt better about making his hooks hit in the center, but felt discouraged about the lack of power.

Seeming to read Stiles' mind, Chris spoke up behind him. "It will take some getting you to. The main thing is to get the basics down, the strength will come later when you feel more comfortable. Learn to control your breathing and your momentum and you will notice a difference."

Stiles nodded slowly. He knew Chris had a point. He didn't really expect to get everything down on one go and move on to the next. He just started so he shouldn't let himself get discouraged. He had a long ways to go before he really noticed a difference. He had to start somewhere, where else than at the beginning. Stiles nodded again, this time more sure.

Yet when Chris stepped up into his peripheral vision, his hand coming up to either grasp his shoulder or give him a shove to keep going, Stiles flinched. _Dammit_ , he flinched again. Stiles couldn't help it. The dark silhouette on the outside of his vision, coming up too fast, too soon, it messed with him. He did not suddenly imagine the basement or anything, but it was the act itself that did it. Filtering through his mind, so similar to that night. It was similar to Gerard and Grant. When his vision was blurry from pain and tears, sweat dripping into his eyes. Silhouettes and shapes were all he could see on the edge of his visions. He stepped away from the figure, realizing too late that it was Chris behind him. When he jerked away, his eyes caught onto Chris' face. 

The man stopped immediately, his hand in mid-air. At Stiles' reaction, he slowly put his hand down like any sudden movements would scare him away. Stiles could see the confusion on the man's face, changing to understanding and then sadness. The sadness turned his features darker, his frown deeper. The lines in his face making him look older than what he was. There was a slight twitch in his jaw, where he clenched his teeth shut, before taking a half a step back. 

Chris didn't say anything for a moment and Stiles was not able to. He maintained his breathing, but his heart was not quite as steady. When Stiles looked away from Chris, avoiding his eyes, the man spoke. 

"Continue practicing. Switch it up as you go. Focus on keeping your jabs fast." Chris backed away, heading towards the house. "Remember to breathe and concentrate on aiming your momentum. Stay centered."

With that he went back into the house. The silence was clear, but not deafening. The morning sounds of the town and outside trees were enough to break Stiles from standing there too long. The chirping of the birds and clicking of grasshoppers were enough to help calm Stiles. When he went back to punching the bag, he focused on what he needed to do. Keeping it slow until he built up to a comfortable pace. He switched up between his jabs and his hooks, keep it going as the sun rose higher into the sky. Eventually he felt his arms get heavier, soreness running up his arms and shoulders, but he ignored it. He focused on the bag, aiming dead center with each punch. 

As time went by he tried not to think about Chris' face or about that night. It was easier said than done. The faces that haunted him were floating in his mind, yet he twisted it around to make it seem like the bag was their faces or their bodies. He felt his emotions rise up inside him. Anger and rage leading the way, hurt not far behind mixing with fear. Each punch fueled by his amounting emotions. Each punch he imagine their faces. Each punch he imagined pouring his anger out through his arm, meeting the bag, letting it drain out of him little by little. 

It may not be healthy to do this, but Stiles couldn't care. Each passing minute, he breathe, he punched, and he felt everything from that night. Soon it wasn't just Gerard or Grant he was seeing. It was everyone. Scott, Derek, Jackson, Isaac, Allison, every person that was there that night. Yes he was angry.

He was angry at Gerard. For kidnapping him and torturing him, first for information then because he wanted to. Grant for taking so much pleasure in his pain and then trying to satisfy his own sick fantasy. Scott for lying and betraying him, for not helping him or coming for him, for making Stiles feel like he was worthless to his once best friend. For Jackson being the sole attention of so many people, distracting everyone from even noticing Stiles' kidnapping or evident hurt. Allison for her insecurities and blind rage at Derek and the pack for her mother, listening to Gerard and helping him, knowing that it was wrong. And Derek...Derek hurt the worst. 

He couldn't think about the man. If he did, he was afraid of what would happen. If he was being honest, he was more angry at himself. For letting it all happen. For being blind to what was obvious now. Scott's constant dismissals of him despite everything he has done for his friend, Derek brushing him away and treating him like an annoying fly who constantly hung around, Allison's blind rage and hurt for her mothers clouding her judgment. He felt so stupid for not taking charge prior to all of this happening. He felt angry at himself for not being stronger. For being weak and allowing himself to be used and then thrown away without second thoughts. For being tortured and helpless to help himself or Erica and Boyd because he _was_ weak.

Each punch he made was filled with so much emotion, he barely noticed the bag was moving more and more. His breathing quickened and his heart thundered in his chest, but he maintained focus as best he could. Sweat was pouring off of him, his skin heating up under the morning sun. He heard a whistle from behind him, shocking him out of his trance. He turned quickly to see Chris standing there, a bottle of water in his hand, his face a blank mask.

"I think that is a good place to end for the day," he said softly, extending his hand a little, offering the water bottle. Stiles waited for a moment, taking deep breaths, letting the burn of his lungs subside.

He went up to Chris taking the water with a small smile. He chugged most of it before feeling his body calm down enough. He could still feel the residual anger, but it wasn't as pronounced as it was. Stiles had to admit that he felt better. Who knew boxing could be a form of stress relief. Sweating and sore, he could feel his muscles ache in slight protest and the strenuous activity. Neither one of them said anything, each one just standing there, drinking some water, listening to the approaching early afternoon. When Chris put his bottle of water down, stepping away from him, Stiles felt the need to say something.

"Thanks," he said to the man. "For doing this."

Chris nodded, not really looking at him, but giving an acknowledgment to his words. "Don't thank me yet. You have only begun." Chris continuing to move towards the bag.

Stiles smirked, reaching down to pick up his jacket. He unclasped the gloves, pulling them off noticing his hands were as sweaty as the rest of him. He put them on the ground at his feet. He was about to leave before another thought crept back into his mind.

“Also, about all this” he stated to Chris who was heading towards the bag to put it away in the shed. “Don’t tell anyone. Please.”

Chris’ look of confusion was enough to make the boy pause. “Wouldn’t your pack want to know how you are doing with training? Allison would be happy to help.”

At the mention of the pack and Allison, Stiles winced. He could feel his face darkening, his frown evident. He couldn’t help it. All their faces circling in his mind, taunting him, bringing back the sharp stab of hurt and anger. If Chris saw his face, he didn’t mention it, just stood there patiently waiting for Stiles to continue.

"No," he said a little to forcefully. Sucking in a deep breath before letting it out, Stiles shook his head before he spoke, keeping his tone more quiet. “What pack? I don’t think I was ever a part of one.”

With that Stiles left, barely seeing the confused and concerned look on Chris’ face as he did. He left his request in the air. Chris could do what he wanted, Stiles knew that. He just hoped that Chris would abide by his request. Stiles didn’t want anyone to know what he was doing. He didn’t want anyone knowing and then telling his dad. That would lead to too many questions and Stiles has lied enough over the past few months. He also didn’t want the others to know. His former pack didn’t need to know. If they saw him as a weak human who wasn’t needed then so be it. No one seemed to care about him anyway, so why would they waste time learning about why he wanted to learn how to defend himself. Protect himself from anything like that happening again.

He wasn’t doing this for them anyway. With Gerard and Grants faces still running through his mind and his body still healing from last Friday, Stiles bit his lip. No he most certainly wasn’t doing this for former friends. He was doing this for him, and him alone.  

*** * * * * * ***

 

Visiting his dad at the station sounded like a good idea. He hasn’t seen his dad for more than a few moments at a time and it mostly was when he was leaving the house to go to work. He figured he would stop by, not just to see his dad, but also see if anyone has reported Erica and Boyd missing. Their parents had to have known right? It had been over three days since anyone else has seen them last, so the odds of someone reporting them as gone would be likely. Stiles hoped that logic was sound. He had to start figuring out where they had gone. They wouldn't run away on their own, at least he hoped they wouldn't. So if the missing person reports were a no go, he would move on to other things. Like the license plate on Boyd's car, their credit card histories, formally check with their families. The list goes on. He knew the others were looking for them, so will he, but he would keep to himself about it. He will do all he can for the two betas. In fact, he'll do what he does best. Research.

When he went into the station, he noticed the lack of deputies immediately. When the Kanima attacked, it dwindled the numbers of the station considerably. The first thing he noticed was the portraits of the officers on the wall to the left of the lobby, eight in total. Each with a smiling officer and their name in the portrait below their picture. There was a small table against the wall below them, with a small vase of tulips on it, and two candles burning underneath. Stiles recognized all the officers, having met and seen them the many times he came to the station to see his dad. Their faces making Stiles stop part way through the lobby, frozen at the many faces he would never see again. Each one of the deputies he knew by name, each one playing baby-sitter to him at one point or another when he came to visit as a kid while his dad was busy with work, keeping him company. 

He could feel the sting behind his eyes before turning his eyes away from the portraits. He couldn't cry, not here. he had work to do. Stopping at the front desk, the deputy on duty recognize him and let him on through to see his dad. 

The lack of deputies was even more pronounced in the back. The empty desks and chairs were like practically taunting him, telling him that their previous owners were no longer there. Keeping his eyes forward, he headed to his dad's office, only to find the door open and the room empty. He looked around the room noticing that his dad wasn't here. He did see another familiar face though. Deputy Cordova was sitting at his desk, typing away at his computer as he completed paper work.

"Hey Deputy Cordova," Stiles said, walking over to the man.

The man looked up and smiled as he noticed who it was. "Stiles," he said, reaching out to shake Stiles hand. "It's been a while. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for my dad. I thought he would want to get a bite to eat, but he's not here." Stiles said gesturing to his dad's office.

The deputy nodded. "Yeah he left about a fifteen minutes ago. Got a call about accident, first officer on the seen reported drunk driver with possible drug possession."

"Why didn't he send you for that? Could have taken one of the dogs with you."

Deputy Cordova was one of those who helped oversee the K-9 unit. For as long as Stiles could remember, the man helped to train the dogs as well as take them out to sites whenever they were needed. Thankfully it wasn't often when it came to drugs, but nowadays the dogs were used more to find missing bodies, especially in the Preserve. Cordova was a good guy, always brought a smile to Stiles' face when he was a kid. Often letting him run around the station when his dad left him in charge of Stiles as a kid. He would even let him play with the dogs they trained in back, effectively keeping him busy most of the time until his dad would take him home. It was Cordova who gave Stiles his first cup of coffee at the age of 12, without his dad knowing that is. It wasn't good coffee since it was from the station's break room coffee maker, but it was still his first. 

"He could have," the man said with a nod, "but with the...vacant positions, we are short staffed leaving him to go out. I have paper work to file."

Stiles saw the crestfallen look on the man's face and quickly changed the subject. He didn't come here to make people sad, he had enough sadness to go around and didn't want anyone's to add to his own. "How are the mutts doing," he asked hoping to brighten the sullen mood.

It worked when Cordova's face lit up with a crooked smile. "I should have known there was a catch to coming to see me."

Stiles smirked. "Not at all. It's nice to see my favorite deputy apart from my dad."

Cordova chuckled, rolling his eyes as he got up from his chair. "Why don't you ask them yourself," he said, leading Stiles to the back of the station. He opened the back door to the grassy lot outback. It was where there were a few targets for practice as well as mats for self-defense and sparring stashed up against the building underneath an overhang. In the back was large cage, with three German Shepherd's barking and yipping happily.

Stiles smiled, seeing the familiar dogs he has gotten used to. He immediately went over to them, undoing the hook to the cage to let himself in. The dogs were on him before he was fully inside, barking and pawing at him, licking at every piece of skin they could reach. Swatting away their tongues, trying to pet the overgrown pups Stiles felt lighter than he did in a while. Running his fingers through their fur, calling out their names, and scratching their necks. Always so full of energy, the wagging of their tails evident as he showed them all affection. Each one he remembered from when they were pups, each being a couple ears old now. Yet still as curious and loving as they were when they smaller.

However there was someone missing.

"Where's Luna," he asked, looking behind him at Cordova.

"Over here," he heard from off to the side.

He looked over to see another deputy, Deputy Landon, coming up from through the lot, most likely from the grassy field a little to the side of the station. The field was yellowish brown with long grass, about four acres in length, separating the station and east side of town from the Preserve. There were two storage units building off to either diagonal side behind the station too, but they didn't take much away from the field. It was ware some of the training sessions for the K-9 unit took place. Mostly where the officers would hide something and the dog would attempt to smell it out.

Deputy Landon was striding up to them, a smile on his face, a leash in his hand holding a very excited black and white shepherd beside him. Stiles scrambled out of the cage, barely closing the gate before Landon let go of the leash so the dog could pounce on Stiles. Luna was bouncing on her hind legs, pawing at his stomach as she tried to reach his face to lick him. She was whining, her tail flicking happily behind her.

"Hey girl. How you doing," he said, wrapping his hands around her fluffy neck.

Landon smiled. "She just finished a training exercise so I guess she deserved her treat."

"Aww," Stiles said in a mocking tone. "I knew you thought I was sweet Landon."

The deputy rolled his eyes, a smirk on his face. "I'm going to go get some dinner. Cordova, you coming?"

Deputy Cordova looked like he didn't want to go, but the rumble of his stomach was easily heard, even by human ears. He looked at Stiles apologetically. Stiles just chuckled. "I'll be fine. I'll wait for dad out here."

"You sure," the man asked, twitching to go back inside.

Stiles nodded, petting the happy dog rubbing her sides against his legs. Both deputies left, leaving Stiles alone with the dogs. He sank to the ground, his back against the cage. Luna climbed on top of him, finally seizing her chance to plant a lick on his cheek and nose. He stifled a giggle, running his fingers through her soft fur. He could feel the other dogs behind him, rubbing against the side of the cage against him. It would be a regular puppy pile if he was inside laying on the ground. At some point Luna settled down, sitting beside him, her tongue hanging out and her tail thumping against the growl lazily.

”Hey Luna,” he said to the dog trailing his hand down her back. “Did you miss me?”

If there was a _hint_ of a baby voice in there, sue him. Stiles didn’t care.

The dog was beautiful. Like the others she was a German Shepherd. What made her different was her story and her characteristics. Luna didn’t have a good upbringing. She was originally a rescue dog. Almost a year ago, she was brought into the station by local volunteers who found her on the side of the road. She was dirty, bloody, and under weight. Stiles dad told him that she had a collar on, no name, but with tags to tell them where she came from. Upon further investigation, it was found that her owner was mistreating her along with a few other animals in their care. The animals were seized and taken to shelters and the owner was charged with animal cruelty and endangerment. Stiles had never seen what Luna looked like under such conditions, but his dad showed him a few photos of the other animal that were rescued. One was a horse, another was a cat and another dog. Each one were malnourished, covered in abuse marks and dirt and grime, looking more than pitiful in the photos. Stiles found that he did not want to see Luna looking like that.

It took some time for her to recover, eventually being less skittish around people. The department took care of her shelter bills as well as the other animals. It made Stiles upset when he learned no one wanted to adopt her. It wasn't due to not trying, but when she was still in the shelter and recovering, she was still learning to get used to people again. Used to no one hurting her. Eventually she was moved from the shelter to the station so that they wouldn't have to keep paying the shelter for her up keep. It also advised that being around other dogs would help to calm her down and ease her into being more herself.

She was a good dog all around. She had it hard, but eventually she became accustomed to people and she often found comfort in the other dogs at the station who made up the K-9 unit. She became young and vibrant under the care of those who wanted to see her thrive. Stiles had visited the station multiple times just to see her, even after she was release from the shelter. At some point, the department agreed that it was best to keep her and train her as part of the unit since she took to the other dogs and the deputies so well. She was still new to it and learning everyday. Mostly she is out doing training exercises on a daily basis to help her, but she has been out on a few small jobs.

She really had come a long way. She was cheerful and full of energy every time Stiles saw her. Unlike the other shepherds, she was unique. While the others were black, brown, and tan, she was the opposite. Her fur was etched with black and white, mixing with light tan in some spots that made it look silver. Her face was a mixture of dark and light. Her nose was dark, fading into the light silvery tan and white. Around her eyes was black fur that bled back into the back of her head like it was eye shadow. Her ears and the top of her head, neck, and back was black, while her under belly, chest, and legs were a mixture of white and silver tan. Her black and white fur blending into each other seamlessly up her legs and down her sides. Her bushy tail was much the same, a mixture of the three colors. Dark and light, black and silvery white, almost like the moon against the night sky.

It was Stile who came up with her name. Upon first meeting her, he proposed it to his dad when the man told him her story. When Stiles thought about her collar not having a name, his dad asked him what he think they should call her. Luna, seemed like the perfect choice. 

"How you doing girl," he said, petting her head, scratching behind her ears, which was her favorite spot. Typical right?

She whined at him, her pink tongue still hanging out. They sat like that for a while. Stiles listened to the birds chirping as they flew around, the wind softly brushing his skin, moving the grass over the loft and the longer weeds and grass in the field in waves. Stile was content to stay there for the rest of the day. He much preferred being here surrounded by the dogs of the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Station rather than stay at home alone. He supposed he could have spent the evening with Danny since he was out of school now, but he didn't want to interrupt Danny. The boy had to have other things he wanted to do than babysit him. Stiles wanted to tell Danny about his training with Argent, but for right now he wanted it a secret. He more than likely knew what Danny would say if he did mention it to him. 

He would ask if he had a concussion or he naturally was drawn back to the family that put him through so Hell. For all intents and purposes, Stiles didn't really have an answer. He could have gone to get training from someone else, maybe anyone else. He could have come here to the station to learn self-defense. Deep down though, he knew it would not help. No one else was equipped to handle the supernatural as well as the local hunters of the town. Chris was the only logical choice when it came to learning how to defend oneself from the things that go bump in the night and inadvertently potential human threats as well. 

Maybe Chris was not his first choice, but his gut knew that it was his best choice. So he would continue to train with the man. And so far the hunter seemed understanding about what he wanted and was content to help. Whether out of guilt for what his family had a hand in or out of his own morals, Stiles didn't know or care.

He was lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the Luna moving away from him, standing a few feet from him. It was the sudden stiffness of her usual swishing tail that caught his attention. When he looked at her, pushing his thoughts away, he heard what he was missing. She was whining.

He was about to say something to her when she barked. 

“Luna, what is it?” Getting up dusting off the back of his pants. 

_Bark._

She looked back at him, her brown eyes looking at his, before she looked forward again.

”What is it girl?” You wanna play or something," coming up beside her, reaching out to touch her back.

A growl vibrated through the dog, radiating up Stiles hand. She continued to look out, barely breaking her gaze on the horizon where the Preserve started across the field. Stiles couldn’t see anything when he followed her gaze or at least attempted to. The cloudy evening making the Preserve darker than it was. It made him shiver at the thought of possible anything lurking about in there. It didn’t shake Luna though. Her growls were still evident. Her body tense. Her ears were up straight and pointed towards the tree line. Her fur bristling just a little at the top of her shoulders, her tail stock still, pointing downward.

"Luna ,come on let’s go inside for a bit.” Stiles wasn't liking this. Something got her attention and it wasn't like Luna to get all growly without good reason. He can't remember ever seeing her act like this. It made him think twice about her seeing a squirrel. He reached down to pull at her leash, trying to lead her into the station. She didn’t listen. She wouldn't budge and her gaze never left the Preserve line. Instead with another growl, she taking a step forward.

Then suddenly she took off, her leash slipping out of Stiles' hand with a snap. She ran towards the woods, her barking coming in between every couple of yards as she did. 

Stiles made to follow her but stopped at the edge of the station's lot. "Luna! Luna, wait. Heal!

Stiles wanted to go back to the station. Try and get one of the deputies to go after her or to help him follow. With each passing moment he could hear her barks get lower in volume and her bouncing silvery black form becoming more obscured by the tall grass of the field. He had no idea what got her worked up, but he had a hundred guess going through his mind. Even the other dogs were growling and yipping behind him, pawing at the cage. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. He thought he should call someone, reaching to pull out his phone only to pause. Who should he call? Who would even answer his call? 

He temporarily thought of calling Danny, but thought better of it. If this was a real problem-meaning supernatural-what would Danny be able to do. Better yet what would Stiles be able to do? However, what it wasn't. What if she was running after another little animal. If he called for help only to find her circling a tree trying to get to a small rodent or something, he would curse himself for it. It would be like him calling 'wolf' only for there not to be one. _Wow, the irony_.

Without much more thought Stiles ran after Luna. Cursing under his breath about dogs, their stupid sense, and their stupid instinct to follow their noses and what not. All of it was stupid. Yet Stiles was following, which cue recklessness at his boneheaded choices, he still did not want to see Luna potentially hurt. So he ran, hoping that this was not a bad idea.

 

*** * * * * * ***

 

Yup this was a stupid idea! _A really fucking stupid idea!_

Stiles thought that over and over again as he was running. Within the Preserve he had no idea where he was going or which direction he was heading, he just hoped he was heading back towards the station. The sounds of shrieks and snarls urging him on without delay. 

He never was able to find Luna. She had already disappeared when he got to the tree line. He was able to hear her distant bark further into the woods. Of course he was reluctant to go further, but he didn't want to leave her. Over and under the brush and wooded ground of the Preserve he went, following the sound of her barks. It wasn't until he heard growls that he stopped. He couldn't pinpoint where exactly they were coming from, but he had a general sense. Hoping that his hearing was enough to lead him to the German Shepherd. Carefully treading his way through sticks, stones, and forest overgrowth, he followed the barks mixing with growls. 

As time passed, the evening had gotten later, the cloudy sky getting darker, approaching twilight. It made Stiles even more antsy. he could feel an itch under his skin, shooting up and down his arm as he called out to Luna, hoping that his voice would pull her away from her antics and urge her to return home with him. He still had his phone with him, which made him happy that if needed he could call someone. He kept following an unknown trail, the barks leading him deeper into the darkening forest. The itch got more and more noticeable the longer he stepped over the forest ground. It wasn't long before the itch turned into a burning sensation, yet despite it, he shivered. His breath hitching in his throat and the cold burning going up and down his spine, his fingers tingled and his stomach clench, the hairs on his arms stood up.

He was too preoccupied with the burning chill and finding Luna that he missed the fact the he was being followed. He suppose the growls should have been a key, but he assumed it was Luna. When he started hearing the growls turn to snarls, he stopped. Listening harder, trying to ignore the pounding in his ears, it sounded like the feral noises were coming behind him and off to the front. He had pulled out his phone to turn on the flashlight it had, taking comfort in the extra light only to have it come crashing down on him when he raised the phone higher behind him.

The shriek was enough to make him stumble back, his heart in his throat, his breath leaving him before he knew what was happening. 

The sight that greeted him was that of a dark figure, rippling in wisps of black shadow around it. It was clothed it tattered, dirty clothes, mostly torn and hanging off them than actually covering them. It was humanoid, skin gray and black, flaking in some spots like it was turning to ash. It's face was skeletal as compared to the rest of it's body, long hair hanging below it's shoulders. It's eyes were wide and angry at the same time, pale white in color, pupil-less, and the mouth lined with sharp teeth. It shrieked as Stiles fell back to the ground. The sound like nails on a chalk board, grating and making him feel like his ears were going to bleed. 

The figure loomed over him, coming closer with its wispy like body and dead skin, the smell of rot and death hitting his nose. It reached a hand out to him, long thin fingers, tipped with black straight claws. 

Oh shit.

Stiles kicked out at it, hitting the things gut or maybe it's legs, he didn't care, all he care about was that it stumbled back, surprised at it's prey's fight. Stile took advantage of the momentary stun, scrambling up and running from the thing. He ran, not caring about the strain it might have on his still healing body. He would rather be alive to heal rather than die at the hands of that thing. He ran through the growth of the Preserve, ducking and dodging the best he could from the branches that seemed to reach out at him. The light from his phone was only thing that gave him any sense of what was in front of him. He could hear the shrieks and snarls behind him, making him push himself harder, harder to get further away. 

His breathing was heavy and his side was aching along with his still sore muscles. He had no idea where Luna was, but he prayed she was no where near that thing. When he thought he was far enough, he stopped trying to catch his breath. He couldn't hear anymore angry sounds behind but that didn't mean he was safe. He kept his phone close to him, the flashlight dulled to keep it from attracting whatever that thing was. Logically he knew he had to call for help. He knew he needed to, yet his fingers never typed out any contacts. He stood there, in the growing dark, with some unknown monster somewhere nearby, not knowing where to go or who he could call.

 _No one would answer anyway_ , a part of his brain thought. 

_No one would care._

_You don't even know where you are_ , it provided. 

Stiles felt that burning chill run through him again. It turned his attention from his phone as a chill went down his spine again. His hairs stood on end, his skin running cold in the warm night air. He felt his heart beat faster, his shoulder tense up and his legs tighten. He couldn't explain it if he tried. It felt like his body was a live wire, sparking with a cold fire. He could feel his muscles pull him, twitching to get him to move. It was like his body was telling him to move, his gut clenching, telling him something was off.

He turned around in time to see the black, dead looking monster come up his left. What made his breathing stop and his heart jump into double time was that it was not the same creature. This one while still dead looking with the same black, gray skin, same sharp teeth, and all white eyes, had also different looking features. Thin skeletal face like the all, but not longer hair. Instead it looked bald. It was taller too. The ripped and dirty clothing was hanging off its torso like rags, making it looks like one ratty one-piece robe. It's claw were long and black, equally as dirty and just as menacing. 

It's shriek was not as high pitched as the other, it was more deep and husky, coming from it chest, almost like a crying growl.

On instinct, Stiles' body moved, tearing him away from the second monster. He ran hard and fast. His feet leading who knows where, so long as it was away from that thing. His side-stitch came back in full force, his body screaming in protest. He had to keep going, the further away he was the better. The cries and screaming of the monsters erupted behind him. He could hear both of them now. He could make out the difference between them as he ran, each still just as terrifying. The cold fire under his skin somehow serving as a push to him, urging him forward. It made him run, serving as the driving force to push down his aches to keep going. Ducking and round around trees and bushes, skipping over stones and fallen logs and branches. Those things still behind him, only their ghostly sounds telling him how far away they were.

It would be surprising to anyone how he maintained his pace for so long, only it was never meant to last forever. Stiles tripped over a raised root or maybe it was a rock, he couldn't tell. It was too dark to see and his phone only lit so much in close proximity. He landed hard on the ground, his breath whooshing out of him as if he did a belly flop in a pool. His foot stung a bit from his obstacle and his phone had fallen out of his hand, landing upright on the ground nearby, pointing its light up into the air. He made to get it, until he felt the cold fire ignite inside him at full force, making his vision go white for a split second, a stutter leave his lips.

It was then he felt the weight on him. Crushing him into the ground below. Long, pointed claws on his shoulders, dead, rotten breath coasting over his sweaty skin. He wrinkled his nose, he breathing stopped. He was pushed over, coming face to face with one of the monsters. It was the bald one. It pupil-less eyes filling his vision. They were unseeing and yet unnervingly knowing. The sharp teeth were yellow and brown, coated in saliva as the creature leaned over him. It's claws were on his chest, pushing him down, holding him in place, digging into his skin. He could feel the skin break in some spots and he tried not to breathe. 

A cross between a growl and cry left his attacker's throat, it head bent so close to Stiles' that the smell was too much. He couldn't breathe even if he wanted to. He wanted to close his eyes, but they stayed open. The chilling burn within him was like an inferno, raging inside him. His skin felt cold, yet his inside felt hot. He was sweating and his heart was beating so fast, it was a shock he wasn't having a heart attack yet. The creature opened its mouth, leaning close to Stiles and it was like time was agonizingly slow. 

_Oh God!_

A blinding flash of silvery white shot into Stiles' vision, accompanied by a growl and bark. A heavy mass hit the creature in the side, making it topple away from Stiles. He felt the brush of softness as he rolled away, getting free air. His sucked in breath, burning his lungs, as he reached for his dropped phone, pointing it towards the animalistic sounds. It was Luna, biting and snapping at the dark thing. Her teeth sunk into the its arm, yet no blood was leaking from it. It there was, he couldn't be sure. It obviously found it hurting, because the high pitched scream it let out was enough to make him want to clench his hands over his ears. It waved its arm and body, trying to dislodge Luna. 

She held on though. Growls ripped from her throat. Stiles got up only to have the long haired one come out of the shadows, running towards him with with intent. Stiles stepped on a rotten branch, before dropping his phone, the light shining up into the sky as he bent to grab it quickly, swinging it around in an arc. The branch connected with the thing's torso, snapping in a collection of wood chips, but it managed to make it lose its balance. 

He grabbed his phone in time to hear a whine and a pitching cry, seeing the thing claw at Luna's side, drawing blood immediately, then throwing her off onto the ground where she skidded into the trunk of a tree. He skittered over to her, covering her wounds with his hand, the other clutching onto his phone. Her whines were like a knife in his heart and yet he couldn't think about what to do. She tried to turn her head towards the wounds, her growls mixing with her whines as the monsters were still there. They kept coming, this time more intently, their cries becoming more like snarls. Saliva dripping from their open mouths, their eyes white and wide. 

In a flash, orange and yellow light burst into his peripherals only to land in front of him, his vision following the light as it swished back and forth. The growls turned to shrieks as the creatures back up some, their claws swiping at the light as it got too close to them. The light was on the end of a stick, held by a dark figure. A figure with short hair, broad back and shoulders, eyes dark and angry as they met his over the man's shoulder.

 "Danny!"

The boy was in front of him, holding out a burning torch. Where he got it, Stiles had no clue nor did he care. It seemed to keep those things at bay, holding them back with the threat of fire. They screamed and cried, snarling through their pointed teeth as Danny waved the torch at them. The yellow-orange glow was comforting, illuminating the area around them, attempting to keep the dark at bay. 

"Get out of here," Danny called, his tone hard and commanding. "Go!"

Stiles was surprised. He never thought he would see hear that tone on Danny. Nor see the tense look on his face. The very sight of him was a blessing and Stiles couldn't help but be happy. That did not distract him from the current matter at hand though. "No, come on let's go!"

Stiles was getting up, standing up behind Danny, his hand in his shirt trying to tugged him back, but Danny didn't budge. He waved the torch in front of them as the long haired monster came closer, hoping to squeeze past the fire. The hitch pitched sounds making them both wince. "Stiles you got to go. Wraiths are not to be messed with."

So that's what they are! Wraiths. He remembered seeing something about them in the bestiary. He had been so focused on the Kanima at the time he barely grazed the page on them. It wasn't important at the time and now Stiles wished he had paid more attention. He vaguely remembered that wraiths were not spirits but very corporal beings. However they were dead once. He couldn't remember what causes them to become 'alive' again or what makes them so distorted into the creatures that they are now. If they made it out of there, he would make a mental note to look into them more and probably read the _entire damn_ bestiary for good measure.

"Go!" Danny bit out, clutching the torch tightly.

Stiles shook his head. "No, I'm not leaving you here."

Danny tightened his hold on the torch that Stiles thought it might break. The line of Danny's shoulders went flat and his back was rigid. Stiles couldn't see Danny's face, but he had no doubt his jaw was set and his face was probably angry or extremely serious. One of the two. "You're an idiot, you know that."

Despite the situation, Stiles couldn't help but smile. "Probably. We can worry about that later. Come...Danny!"

They barely had a chance to react, Stiles' warning a little too late when both wraiths moved swiftly, dodging away from each other, the shadows almost swallowing them whole. The shriek of one of them was so loud that it made them flinch, Stiles covering his ears and hissing in protest. Their very skin crawled and hairs rose on their arms from the force of the scream that pierced the night. Danny didn't let go of the torch, but he faltered some. His head turning to his shoulder in hopes of stifling the sound as best as possible. That moment of broken concentration was enough for the bald wraith to surge from the shadows to their side. The white of its eyes illuminated in the torch light. 

The torch was knocked from Danny's hand. Danny almost being knocked with it if he didn't let go. He stumbled back, Stiles grabbing hold of his shoulders to pull him back. Blindingly a claw flashed out from the wraith, raking across Danny's chest. His shirt ripped and Stiles heard a sharp hiss of pain coming from Danny as he pulled him further away from the wraith. He wrapped his hand around Danny's torso, feeling the exposed skin and blood underneath. Pushing Danny back behind him, he forced himself and Danny back. Stiles could see Luna's form on the ground as they stepped back further and further. She was still whining, but it was breaking up into more breathless pants.

The wraith came forward again aiming for Stiles. This time they both moved, ducking to the sides, letting the creature moved passed them with a scream. The other was not far behind, barreling towards Stiles, aiming for his chest. He felt the sting of the claws as they dug into his chest and side. He cried out in pain, using his hands to push against the wraith. Its long hair was brittle and ratty, falling over its shoulders in clumps, brushing against his skin as it leaned close. The strength of these things was surprising. 

Danny came up to punch at the wraith, his fist connecting with his face, its sharp teeth grazing his fingers. It didn't seem to deter the thing. Instead Danny was thrown back by the other one. The screams pulsing around them. Danny hit the trunk of tree, shaking the lower limbs. He crashed to the ground with a thud, dirt spraying around him. Blood was covering his shirt and his right hand looked bloody too. The bald wraith seemed to flex it's hand, before stepping towards Danny.

It's black dirty claw were aimed at Danny, the wraith holding it's dead hands out like was about to pounce. It walked closer to Danny, each step feeling like an eternity passed, but not making the sight any easier. 

Danny panting and bleeding from his chest, a small trickle of blood running down the side of his forehead as he struggled to get back up. Stiles fought harder, somehow managing to turn around in the process, only to be stepped on my the wraith pinning him down. The strength of those mistakenly fragile looking limbs was not to be underestimated. Stiles didn't care though. He tried to claw his way across the ground, hoping to get to Danny.

"Danny," he called, hoping to get the boy to stir and move away. The boy looked dazed, his body on the ground in a heap. His eyes unfocused as he dragged in deep breaths while the wraith moved closer to him.

Stiles couldn’t move, the foot digging into his back, pushing against his spine. It was a crushing weight, his lungs stinging from his labored breathing, but he couldn't focus on it. All he saw was Danny. The long claws of the wraith and the deadly intent it had. For the life of Stiles, he couldn't help but picture being back with the hunters. The feeling of helplessness and dread eating at his mind. Only this time he wasn't alone. Now he and Danny were in trouble. There was no guns or knives, or laughing hunters, instead there was supernatural monsters, bent on death and whatever else they craved. It was different once you thought about some of the aspects he went through with the hunters, but it still didn't take the gut wrenching fear away. The rising panic was building inside his body. The cold fire engulfing every nerve ending with it. It burned his limbs and torso. He could feel his heart pounding into the dirt below him. The fear joined that burn, fueling it under his skin.

He kept trying to get closer, trying to reach Danny. He had to think of a way out of this. He had to get to him. He couldn't suffer for Stiles' mistake. He couldn't _die_ for Stiles' recklessness.

The bald wraith stepped closer, hovering over Danny. Its hand wide open, black claws poised to strike. It's piercing scream vibrating into the night, echoing off the darkness of the woods around them. Stiles couldn't breathe. This couldn't happen. It can't happen!

”No!”

The terror burned inside him and the icy warmth ignited, burning in his chest before flooding out into his arms like wave. As he screamed, fire erupted from where he grasped the dirt. The fire igniting from under his hand. He stared wide eyed at the sudden flames. The yellow-orange light blinding. He almost pulled his hand back, but for some reason he didn't, his hand remained on the ground, his fingers digging into the dirt. He didn't feel the flames. The realization of only a slight warmth was the only thing he could feel. It burned under his palm, licking at the ground and turning it black in it's glow.

As he watched in bafflement, the flames bled through the ground it as if it was following a trail of highly flammable gasoline, surging up towards the wraith over Danny. The sudden light making the wraith turn just in time to catch the fire as it climbed up its dead flesh and torn clothes. The high pitching wail was deafening. It moved away from Danny, engulfed in burning light. As Stiles watched, he saw another trail leave his palm on the ground, turning to wrap its way around his body on the ground. Before he knew it, the crushing weight on his back was gone and he sucked in heaving breath.

More light burst into the wooded area. The wail from one wraith was accompanied by another. Stiles turned on his side, his vision dotted around the edges, as he took in the sight of the other wraith in flames. Clawing at his body and clothes, trying to put out the fire. Instead it was tearing at its own skin. The smell of rotten, burning flesh wafting into the air, laying over everything like a blanket.  It batted, wiped, and struck itself to put its skin out. As the dead flesh melted away, the gurgling sounds joined the pained screams. It fell to the ground a mere two feet from Stiles as he scrambled his legs away from it. He turned away from the creature, pawing his way over the dirt. He still had to get to Danny. His vision was going back and forth between blurry and clear. 

The shrieks sounded like they were coming from everywhere. Stiles had no idea what happened, but he didn't care. If this was a miracle then he would bloody take it.

He saw the bald wraith move into his line of vision. The blaze of its body too bright to look at fully. It snarled and screamed as it swiped at itself. Yet it came towards Stiles as it did. He could feel the heat of the fire. The light penetrating his blurring vision. It was coming for him, hoping to burn him with itself. He could barely see the clawed hands as it reach for him. The flames inching towards the ground as it flew on its robe-like clothes. Its white eyes wide and staring at Stiles with an intent that Stiles had no clue how to read. 

"Stiles!"

In a flash of green light, the ground erupted in dirt and vines. The sprouted from the ground, wrapping around the wraith as it burned. It was pulled to the dirt by it's arms, legs wrapped tightly. Another vine snaking around its fiery torso. The wails and screams getting more jagged and choked. The wraith still tried to claw its way towards Stiles. Its finger leaving deep crevices in the dirt. Another vine burst near its head, entangling around its throat. The choking sounds became more wet and hoarse. Stiles looked towards Danny who was still by the tree, his eyes on the burning wraith, one hand on his chest, the other outstretched.

And it was _glowing_.

Green light seemed to encase Danny's open hand. The boy's eyes never leaving the wraith, his face grim. Stiles found himself looking back at the wraith. It wasn't clawing at him anymore. The screams growing less and less, until they stopped. The burning, dead smell still radiating from it. The flames never once leaving the body, not even touching the vines. The fire burned away the clothing, eating away the decayed flesh. Bits of flaky skin rose in the air like floating paper on the wind, incinerating to nothing as they drifted. The fire never once dulled or faded. Smoke billowing out into the night, the wind taking it away in different directions. As Stiles watched with wide eyes, the wraith jerked and then went still. And then everything went silent.

The only sound being the fire still burning the two wraiths until there was nothing left to burn away.

Stiles didn't know how long he laid on the ground, looking at the still form in front of him. He was not even aware if he was breathing. He was distantly aware of his body, the painful knowledge of more bruises and cuts to take care of, but he didn't move. It was like he was frozen. He didn't even acknowledge that the cold fire in his body had disappeared, leaving behind a dull humming warmth. He felt every part of his body was tingling, but that might have been due to the shock. Yet, he felt no fear. Not anymore.

He was so out of it, Stiles didn't even know Danny had come over to him, wincing as he knelt beside him. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, another on his arm, gently tugging him. When Stiles looked at the boy beside him, Danny's face was calm almost resigned in a way. His eyes, however, were worried and awestruck. Blood was still dripping from his chest and his forehead, but he seemed coherent. Covered in blood and dirt, Stiles had never seen Danny look like that. It was almost the same image of himself on occasions after a supernatural fight when he was with the pack. 

Danny squeezed his arm gently, but with a firm strength, coaxing him to focus. He looked down at the hand on his arm, the same hand that was moments ago, glowing green. That was not a dream. None of this was. Stiles would swear with every breath he had, he saw Danny's hand glow. He supposed he should be afraid of said hand touching his skin, but instead felt nothing at it. The warm pressure was only reassuring. 

"We need to go, come on," he said gently, his voice seeming loud in the sudden stillness of the night. Stiles nodded, letting the other boy pull him up. They had to leave. They had to find safety. They had injuries to treat and Stiles had to get to Luna. 

Yeah, they had to leave. They had much to talk about.


	5. Burning Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets answers, but they may not be what he expected? What will he do with these new discoveries?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up everyone! Here we are chapter 5! Once again, THANK YOU TO ALL WHO HAVE COMMENTED AND LOVE THIS STORY AS MUCH AS I DO!!!! I am over the moon each week at your comments, suggestions, and love. This chapter we get answers, or rather Stiles does, but it may not go as happily as you might expect. Not everything is revealed, but it is a big start. Next week comes a discussion with our favorite Sheriff along with other members of the pack. Don't worry, there is still a pack! I just had to break them down to build them back up a bit. Hope you all enjoy this one and I look forward to any more suggestions or thoughts you have. STAY TUNED YA'LL! ;D

It took over an two hours to get back to town. Danny knew the direction he had come from, having marked it by following the little landmarks in the Preserve. Funny looking tree over here, boulder next to tree over there, creek over yonder, he did his best to remember what he passed as he made his way into the forest, hoping to find his way back. Together, he and Stiles made there was out of the Preserve, Stiles carrying the German Shepherd-Luna, as Stiles called her-in his arms. 

Each of them were hurt, Luna most of all. Stiles had suffered cuts and scrapes on his chest, shoulders and arms. Danny had five cuts on his chest, deep in some areas, but not bad. He was more concerned about his head. He barely remembers hitting his head on the tree he was thrown against. It hurts and his vision is somewhat blurry if he moves his head too quickly, but he is able to remain upright. If he has a concussion, well _great_.

Luna fared the worst out of them. The poor dog had punctures that were at least 5 inches deep in her sides and she was bleeding with each passing moment and she also might have a broken leg if her keep it close to her body is any indication. Her soft whines is the only sound between them as they walk. The crunches of leaves and sticks beneath their shoes. The sounds of a predominately sleeping Preserve sounding quietly around them. It was a stark contrast to the piercing wails of the wraiths they dealt with before. The whole time Stiles was quiet, holding the dog, in his arms, the dog's head and front paws over his shoulders. 

It made Danny worry. Stiles was never quiet. Stiles was always moving and talking. His ADHD preventing him from being as stonily silent as he was unless something was wrong, really wrong. Danny chanced glances at the other boy as they got closer to the Preserve treeline, the tenseness of his back, the deeply thoughtful and concerned look on his face. Danny stayed close to him, in case he needed help walking with the dog or in case he wanted him to help carry her, but he never faltered. Not once stumbling or seeming to get tired. He kept on, unyielding and silent.

Danny felt something like proud of Stiles for it, but he was not sure if he was aloud too. Especially after what happened. They had just faced two wraiths. They came close to almost getting killed. Stiles had almost gotten close to getting killed, _again._ It was like the boy was a damn magnet for trouble. Danny had done what he could to help him, inevitably revealing what he was to the other boy. He revealed he was _not ordinary_.

They had a long night ahead of them. They had a tidal wave of things to talk about. 

Danny was upset. Upset with himself mostly. He never meant to reveal what he could do to Stiles. He had no choice though. He had to protect him. He had to save him. He did what he could on short notice and with what he had, hoping that it would all play out well in the end. He was massively wrong. He did expect the wraiths to fight and he did expect to walk away with cuts and bruises, but he did not expect to have to reveal his...abilities. Not before he was ready. He also did not expect what Stiles had done.

He eyed the boy more times on the walk back than he had in the past few days. The boy looked like the same Stiles he's always known, but Danny knew that there was far more to him than first thought. 

Danny wondered if Stiles knew. If he knew what he was and what he could do. From the lack of communication in the past two hours, he thought maybe he did, and didn't know how to bring it up. Maybe Stiles was more in shock about Danny's abilities? Maybe Stiles was waiting for Danny to bring up the burning questions. It is possible Stiles did not know. That he was in stunned about what he had done, not Danny. Danny was worried that Stiles was going to have a panic attack, that all of this was going to be too much and make him go into overdrive to try an understand.  He had been waiting till the moment Stiles had found out the truth, only he never thought it would have taken so long. Especially when he was with the pack so long. Danny thought he would find out when the pack was around to witness it. 

 _Look how those thoughts turned out,_ he thought to himself.

He was still incredibly pissed and hurt on Stiles' behalf. The previous Friday's events going over and over in his brain each day. He wanted to find each member of the pack and punch each one and yell at them about their stupidity and selfishness. It may not do any good, but at least it would be out in the air. Danny was angry with Scott, and disappointed in Derek. Out of everyone, he thought those two would not have stooped so low.

Stiles had avoided going to school the last two days of the school year. Danny knew he would, not wanting to chance seeing Scott or the others. He kept in touch with Stiles while he was in school, just chatting with him, keeping him company on the phone since he wasn't there with him. He wanted to be, he also wanted Stiles there at the school too. He wanted him to be his usual vibrant, talkative, spastic, smart self while he walked in the halls and sat in class. Looking at how things were now, Danny knew that it might be a while before Stiles returned to the kid he once was, if ever.

Once they broke through the vegetation and out of the Preserve tree line, they half-ran, half-walked to where Danny was parked. He had gone into the Preserve close to the school, the building providing cover for him in case anyone saw. Since the woods were just past the fields, he parked his car in the parking lot and ran as soon as he turned the engine off. Thank god for no houses near the school either, they didn't need nosy people watching.

They made it to his car, Danny opening the passenger door for Stiles, letting the kid slide in while he held the dog, holding her softly as he sat down, trying to not jostle her. Danny hurried to hop in his side before starting the car. Neither spoke still, lost in their own mind as the engine purred to life and soon they were on the road, heading to the one place they could go. 

No that was not the hospital.

Deaton's clinic was dark on the outside. All the lights were off and the obvious sign on the door had stated the place was closed. After helping Stiles out of the car, holding Luna to his chest, his fingers scratching at her back softly, they walked briskly to the back. The back door was locked at night, but they knew that Deaton would be in. The man was always in. Danny knocked on the door, waiting for the man to open up.

"I don't want to be here," Stiles said finally. 

Danny looked over his shoulder at the boy. He was worried, that much was clear. He also seemed apprehensive and wary. Danny knew the other boy didn't trust Deaton. He didn't blame him. Danny could understand why. However, when he looked at the way Stiles was clutching to Luna and the blood coating his shirt and dripping a little down his arms, not to mention his own wounds, Danny shook his head. 

"There is no place else to go," Danny spoke softly. "I know you don't trust him, but you need help and so does she." He gestured to the dog who was looked like she was losing consciousness. Stiles held onto her a little tighter, his fingers rubbing her soft fur.

"Fine," Stiles said after a few moments as Danny knocked on the door again. "But you need looked before me. You're hurt more than me."

Danny hid the smile that was about to show. Leave to Stiles to be selfless, regardless of the turmoil in his mind. Thankfully, the door opened in a tired but alert looking Deaton greeted them. He barely had to look at both boys before he pushed the door open further, stepping to the side to allow them to pass. They immediately went past the stock room and the extra room for some cages that were used for animals before surgery or for an overnight stay. There was a gray cat in one and little dog in another, both barely keeping their eyes open.

They made their way to Deaton's examination room, Stiles quickly moving to put Luna on the steel slab in the middle of the room. Deaton had followed them quietly, no one saying a word until they were all in the room. Luna laid between them all, the dog whining softly at the nudging of her wounds, her eyes fluttering. Stiles stayed close to the dog, keeping his hand on her neck, providing quiet reassurance to her. Deaton stood in front of them on the other side of the slab, his calm, his eyes scrutinizing on them and the dog.

"What happened," Deaton asked, turning away from them to grab some gloves from the far counter. 

Danny looked to Stiles for a moment. Stiles met his eyes, the same wariness in their amber depths. Even in the fluorescent lights, his eyes were swimming with unease. Stiles didn't want to share much with Deaton, but also knew that Deaton wouldn't be able to help if he did not know what all happened. Seeing the tense expression on his face, Danny gave him a slight nod, hoping to let Stiles know that it was okay.

Letting out a deep breath of air, Stiles relayed everything that had happened. Danny listened silently with Deaton as Stiles told them what happened up until where Danny found him. He told them about visiting the station, about Luna running off, and then about the two wraiths, about Luna attacking the wraiths effectively protecting him. When he stopped suddenly, Danny realized that Stiles was about to tell Deaton about what happened to the wraiths. He was about to tell the man about the fire, the sudden burst of blames up his hand, and how it trailed after the monsters to burn them to death. 

Stiles was still for a few moments, his eyes downcast, his hand still on Luna as Deaton worked. The man had to cut a little of the dog's fur around the wounds, but only enough to reach it clean it an examine it. Deaton was quiet the whole time. Not saying anything or looking up from what he was doing. He was applying disinfectant, the smell of alcohol polluting the air. The gauze wipes coming away bloody and dirty, but effectively cleaning the wounds on the surface. Deaton also would take a little syringe of the rubbing alcohol to squirt into the the deeper holes, letting the bacteria be burned away and rise to the surface for him to wipe away. Luna would release a breathy whine here and there when he did that, but she mostly stayed quiet.

Danny had not noticed before how much blood she lost. It seemed like a lot. Her side was covered in the dark scarlet liquid. She had dirt on her fur, mixing with the blood, turning spots of her white and light tan fur brown, red, and pink. Danny had no doubt the dog was beautiful. Her color was not always seen in German Shepherds. Her fur was a mixture of light and dark, almost silver in spots. Luna was a perfect name for her. Danny shook his head fondly, knowing full well who had a hand in her naming as he looked at the boy next to him. 

When Stiles stopped speaking, it drew their attentions. Even Deaton stopped in his stitching of the dog to look up, his eyebrows rising up his forehead. 

"Stiles?"

The boy didn't move for a moment. He stared down at his hand on the dog, his thoughts far away from them. When he spoke again, it was in tentative tone. "Then they caught fire. They went up in flames from the ground. They burned up."

Deaton was looked up at the both of them, his eyes questioning, before they settled on Danny. Deaton seemed to be asking a silent question. Danny answered it, having heard it loud and clear. Danny has had many dealings with the Emissary vet to know how to read the man when he wanted to know something. Nothing needed to be said anyway, Danny had no doubt the man already suspected what happened, he just wanted confirmation. Deaton returned his eyes to Luna, silently threading a needle and thread to stitch her deep cuts now that they are cleaned. 

"Interesting," the vet said before threading the needle carefully through the first cut.

"Yeah," Stiles said, continuing on like Deaton hadn't spoken. His nerves starting to surface. "One moment they were there screaming their heads off, not literally, although that would have been beneficial. Save us from having to get all these cuts and bruises and all. The next moment we are on the ground, then whoosh," Stiles raised both hands above his head, "fire lit them up like over-sized candles. But then candles don't shriek and flail about so I guess that analogy doesn't make sense, but I don't know what else to call them. I wouldn't say sparklers because they were not sparkling and they didn't exactly burn out very quickly and I think-"

"Stiles!"

The boy stopped after Danny called his name. His rambling ceasing and his pacing stopped beside Luna again. He stood there as still as he could, his fidgeting of his feet not going unnoticed. Deaton was still watching what he was doing, finishing up on his stitching, wiping away any extra blood, but his mouth was twitching at the corners, looking like he was trying not to smile. Stiles looked a little sheepish, but was otherwise quietly nervous. He was gripping the edge of the steel slab. Leave it to Stiles to ramble even when he is stressed.

"Sorry," the boy said.

Deaton waved away his apology, giving him a small twitch of his lips in acknowledgement. "It has been a long night."

Both boys nodded. Time passed in silence, each one going over their own thoughts. The only sounds were the small snips of scissors on the stitching thread, the little whines from Luna and humming of the lights overhead. When Deaton was done with Luna's stitches, he wrapped a bandage around her body, Stiles having to hold her up a little so the bandage could be wrapped smoothly. Deaton gave her some shot of antibiotics to prevent from any infection and then gave her a sedative to help her sleep. They all watched as her eyes closed, her body going lax, before Deaton went to the sink to put the used utensils in the sink and throw away the bloody wipes. He then scrubbed his hands before gesturing to Danny to come over to sit on the chair the other slab. 

The vet pulled out more gauze wipes, another pair of scissors, two pair of needles with some thread, and antiseptic. He started with his chest, since it was the worst of it. Danny pulled away his shirt, his skin stung as the fabric passed over it making him grit his teeth. He looked down at his chest, five claws marks greeting him. They were not bad, but they could have been better. Blood caked his skin in some spots as it flowed from some of the deeper areas, mostly in center of his chest when the claws got too close. He knew they were scar a bit, right over his sternum and maybe halfway on his pectoral muscles, but it was hard to say at this point. When Deaton started to clean the wounds, they started to look better, fresh blood seeping through just little, but that was a good thing. It meant less infection to happen. With the pressure and the introduction of rubbing alcohol, the biting sting made him grip the edge of the cold slab, holding his breath in an effort to make the pain lessen. It didn't work very well.

The whole cleaning process, no one said a word. It was only when the man brought out small needle to stitch a few spots to help them close better did he speak.

"Stiles, do you remember that talk we had about how you used the mountain ash?" Deaton asked, looking up from making the first stitch in the deepest cut in the center of Danny's chest. Danny had to clench his jaw as Deaton worked as tenderly as possible.

Stiles was startled by that question, but shook off the expression to replace it with confusion. "Sure," he nodded. 

"What do you remember from it?"

Stiles shrugged a shoulder, quirking his lips. "I remember, you telling me that although it was unlikely, it could have been due to a...Spark?" Stiles finished in an unsure tone, looking at the floor in thought.

Deaton nodded in Danny's peripherals. Danny hadn't heard this story. What happened with mountain ash? What did Stiles do? This might have been around the time that Deaton figured out that Stiles was more than he seemed, but then it also could have been just an accident he witnessed. Either way, his interest was peaked and he was curious about where this was going. He sat as still as possible, letting the conversation continue, hoping that it might help Stiles to understand what the rest of the people in the room already knew.

"Exactly," Deaton said softly. "Do you remember what I said a Spark was?"

Stiles leaned forward on the slab Danny was perched on, his elbows on the metal, his chin resting on his closed hands. “Um, not really. I don’t suppose you are referring to a small discharge of electricity in the air between two points, are you?

Deaton just cocked an eyebrow at him, while Danny couldn’t resist the eye roll. Stiles chuckled a bit, waiting for a Deaton to elaborate on his point. Deaton was finished stitching some of the deepest parts on Danny's chest and now he was cleaning off the extra blood. The man grabbed a large bandage, slowing unwrapping it before taping it over the stitches. Both boys watched as he next took roll of gauze and tape, before wrapping it around the his torso over his chest and under his arms.

“A Spark is a type of force," Deaton explained, still handling the gauze. "A quality, if you will, that resides in a being. In some ways it is a source of multiple things. Wisdom, strength, will, even empathy.”

”So like a characteristic?"

Deaton nodded, snipping the gauze roll as he was finishing up before taping it in place. “In broad terms it could be considered that. However, it does have standing in supernatural terms. A spark lives within every living being, often providing those very ‘characteristics’, as you put it, into use. It is a part of a person, much like emotions. As time passes, the Spark grows with the person, highlighting some of their core qualities and abilities.”

”Okay, Stiles nodded. “What does this have to do with anything?"

”A Spark can also be a source of power. For some it can be a great source of emotion and will, allowing them to mold into more physical appearances. It allows those people to manifest their intentions and desires in various ways.”

"Oh sweet baby Jesus, spit it out already! What is a Spark?

Deaton’s mouth quirked, straightening his back, taking a step back from Danny taking a look at his handiwork before leveling a serious gaze upon Stiles. “ _Magic_ , Mr. Stilinski. A Spark allows some to use magic. The physical representation of intentions, desires, will, and nature all in one. The very expression of oneself into the physical world.”

The silence was nerve wracking. You could practically hear a pin drop. It was like waiting for the storm to start up again, the silence that was deafening before chaos took over. Danny had no idea he had stopped breathing, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t turn around to see the other boy’s face but he could feel his eyes on the back of his head. It was like a weight pushing on his skin before it went away. 

“Alright,” he heard Stiles say in a low voice. “So magic exists. Why not? I mean werewolves and druids do too, so yeah. I’m not expecting Harry Potter shit to pop up, but there’s got to be some magic in the world with all the supernatural stuff right?”

"It would certainly help explain a few things. Like your use of the mountain ash.”

"Right,”Stiles said, the sound of his pacing now behind Danny. He turned to see him running his hands through his hair. “I mean who knows what kinds of magic is out there to-,” he stopped suddenlya few feet from them in mid stride, his back to them before he turned around, his eyes on Deaton. “What did you say?”

"It explains your use of mountain ash. When you sealed the barrier to prevent Jackson from escaping, without touching it.”

"No that wasn’t me. I wasn’t near it to move it," said Stiles, with a small roll of his eyes.

”You didn’t have to be. Your intentions were enough.”

"My-"

"Think about it. Your use of mountain ash, that came from your desire. The desire to protect your friends. Stop any more harm, to seal the barrier,” Deaton said, leisurely leaning back again the counter across from Danny.

Stiles shook his head, biting his lip. "That was everyone’s intention."

"Everyone else was fighting to prevent Jackson's escape, but you focused on the barrier.” Deaton coolly replied. “Your Spark helped make that happen. Whether intentional or not, it responded to your plea. Just like it did tonight with the fire."

"No, that's not true."

"It is true. You have the ability to use magic, Stiles.”

Stiles stopped, looking at Deaton, his eyes calculating. In the next moment, he laughed. His face broke into a wide grin as he busted up in laughter. It’s wasn't a belly laugh but it was like he found it all comical, enough to make him think that it was all a joke. When Danny sat there with Deaton, neither saying a word just staring, Stiles looked at their faces. To Danny, it looked liked Stiles was searching their expressions waiting for them to crack and join in in the joke with him. It never happened. 

Slowly Stiles’ composure came back to him, his laughing ceased and his smile dropped away. His eyes changed, growing a darker shade as he started to think, becoming serious. 

“No,” he said. Shaking his head slowly, his eyes darting between them. “No that is crazy.”

”Yet you have friends who are werewolves.” Deaton supplies calmly.

”No that is not possible. I’m not...magical. I’m just _human_ ,” he said breathlessly and scoffing at the same time, gesturing to himself. “I’m...I’m just...I’m a nobody.”

Danny shook his head as he found his voice to speak. “That is not true and you know it.”

"Come on Danny," Stiles said raking his hands through his hair making it more unruly. "Whatever happened out there, that wasn't me."

"So fire just burst out of no where?"

"Hey," he said spreading out his arms wide looking at his friend, "spontaneous combustion is not unheard of. Not to mention we didn't know what those monsters were capable of. Maybe they did it on accident."

Deaton shook his head, his mask over his features. "Wraiths do not have that kind of power. They are bodies of the dead brought back by dark means, purposes that vary. They may be monsters, possessing nothing but instincts and a desire to steal the souls of another, but they are still, in a sense, a shell of what they once were," he said while grabbing more antiseptic and pouring some on a gauze wipe.

"Oh," Stiles sighed for a moment trying to grasp at straws to make another excuse. "Well then there's another reason."

"Stiles, there is no other reason," Deaton said, leveling his wise gaze at the teen.

Already he was shaking his head, pacing a little next to Luna's slab. The dog still asleep, but breathing more normal. She didn't even stir at their voices or Stiles movement. "It can't be. It is not possible."

"Can you honestly say that, given everything you know? Everything you have _seen_?" Danny had asked, trying to stress the truth in his words. Danny didn't want to scare Stiles, he didn't want to make him worry, but Stiles had to know. He had to know the truth, deep down the boy knew something was different. "I know you saw my hand Stiles. I know you saw what I did."

Stiles was quiet for a time. His amber eyes wide like honey colored orbs, staring at Danny with a mixture of emotions that Danny was afraid to understand. He recognized fear and confusion. Stiles' brows were furrowed in the middle just a little as the teen thought. No doubt going over everything in his mind, everything that could now be explained. It was hard to watch. Yet Danny felt a bit of relief. He was relieved that Stiles finally knew. Not just what Danny was, but also about what he was.

"Why did you not tell me," he asked softly, almost breathlessly.

Danny felt himself frown. He felt his stomach flip at his words. "I wanted to. I wanted..."

Danny let the sentence fall away. He didn't know what he could say. He wanted to tell Stiles, ever since Stiles found out that he knew about the darker parts of the world. For some reason, he couldn't. There were no words to describe why, at least not yet, except that he wasn't ready.

Stiles looked like he was about to say something else, but Deaton cut him off. His voice a calming monotone in the silence as he began to wipe Danny's head of excess dirt and blood. "What happened the night you were with Gerard and the hunters?"

The question stunned the boys into silence for a few moments. Danny eyes the vet critically, trying to understand where he was going with this. The man knew what happened. Deaton knew what Stiles went through that night. Stiles was still dealing with the trauma of that horrific night. Why would he bring it up again? Danny looked at his friend, watching his face contort into surprise followed by a tense calm. If Danny was a werewolf, he would bet Stiles' heart was beating loud enough to sound like a drum.

"I was kidnapped," he said slowly. "Tortured and nearly killed."

"What else?"

Stiles swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbed with the force. "I was beaten to a pulp. Almost killed in the woods," he said between clenched teeth. Danny could see his hands clench open and close at his sides. His back was straight, but his shoulders were a little hunched over, like he wanted to hide, but wasn't going to run.

"But there is more to it," Deaton replied, not seeming to notice Stiles' tense demeanor as he switched to a clean wipe to finish wiping Danny's head. "Isn't there?"

"Deaton-," Danny began, only to be cut off by Stiles.

"What does it matter? You already know what happened," Stiles commented tersely. "I'm here. I'm alive and they are not."

Danny knew that the hunters were no longer around. He knew from the look on Stiles' face that night, that the hunters were dead. His curiosity was peaked though. He had no idea how Stiles escaped. He had no idea how the hunters ended up dead, where Stiles was able to get away. That did not mean he didn't have an idea. Danny had a very good guess. He suddenly knew why Deaton was pushing Stiles to answer this. The former Emissary wanted Stiles to figure it out. He wanted Stiles to think about that night, understand what had really happened. He wanted Stiles to face the truth and accept what he is capable of.

"Why is that," Deaton asked. "What happened to them?"

When Stiles didn't speak, the room fell quiet again. The boy fidgeted, shuffling his weight from foot to foot. He hugged his arms around himself, his fingers twitching to rub the sleeve of his torn jacket between them. 

"Your smart Stiles," Deaton said slowly, calmly, despite the thick strained atmosphere. "What does your gut tell you?"

Stiles sucked in a breath of air. The nervous rubbing of his jacket stopped, instead clutching it, so tight his knuckles went white. His breathing became heavy. His eyes unfocused, staring at the ground like it was something terrible. Danny saw Stiles take a small step back, like he was about to run. If Danny looked closer, he saw a small bead of sweat on his temple. Danny wanted to go over and snap Stiles out of his thoughts, but that might do more harm than good. He and Stiles were still relatively new to their friendship. There was still some things that Stiles was not comfortable sharing, same goes for Danny. But it didn't mean Danny still didn't want to help. Based on Stiles reaction, he was able to put two and two together. It answered the literal burning question. What really happened that night. 

"The wraiths," Danny said slowly, trying not to scare Stiles or cause him to react in a negative manner. "They caught fire. They burned up." When Stiles moved again another step, his hands started to shake. He looked the perfect mixture of horrified and miserable. The shadow of something covering his amber eyes. It reminded Danny of a chilling...guilt. "Like the hunters did, didn't they?"

Both Deaton and Danny looked at Stiles who remained quiet. Shaking in the silence of the clinic. He swallowed multiple times, like he had something stuck in his throat. He clung to his own arms like lifelines. The sweat of his brow became more pronounced. He looked on the verge of a panic attack. Danny has only seen Stiles have a panic attack once. It was a long time ago in middle school after his mother's death. It was not a sight he liked then and surely was not one he wanted to witness again. He didn't mean to cause Stiles any unwanted emotions. He just wanted to help him understand, just like Deaton. 

When Stiles raised his eyes to them, they were glassy, filling with tears. His head nodded to Danny's question as the tears filled his eyes.

"I-It was me. I...I killed them."

Danny saw it the moment those words broke through his lips. He saw the terror, the sadness, the heart-retching guilt, the shattering of any denial he had left. Stiles' eyes went wide before his shaking radiated up through his body. It traveled from his hands up his body. His whole body broke down, his knees giving way as he fell to the floor. Tears no longer contained, spilling onto his cheeks to splash on the floor. The words 'I killed them' repeating in the room like the endless lyrics to a song. It echoed off the clinic walls, making it sound worse than it was. 

Danny was there in the next moment, ignoring his aching body and the slight wobble he made as he vision went blurry for a second, kneeing beside Stiles as the boy wept. His hands shaking as he looked at them with wet almost unseeing eyes. It was like he was cursing them as he stared at them. Fear and disgust swirling back and forth on his face. Like his hands betrayed him. He was breathing in heaving breaths, barely getting the air he needed. Stiles swayed slightly as he trembled, opening and closing his hands over and over again like he was grasping for something to hold onto. Danny didn't think then, he didn't care to. He couldn't watch this happen to Stiles, not over this.

He clasped his hand into Stiles'. It was cold and clammy, shaking even under his grip. He squeezed it firmly, trying to provide any support he could. When Stiles looked up, he blinked seeming to realize Danny and Deaton were still there.

He tried to back away from them then. "No," he yelled, making the pair of them jump. "No, don't touch me. Please, don't. I don't wanna hurt you." Danny moved with the scrambling teen. He couldn't let Stiles run from him. It was not going to help anything.

"No Stiles," he said holding on tight, moving with his across the floor until Stiles' back pressed against the opposite wall. "It's okay. Listen to me."

"Please," he pleaded. "I don't wanna hurt you too."

Danny gave a sad smile, but stood firm. "You won't. Listen to me. You are not a killer. You protected yourself. They were going to kill you Stiles. They were going to hurt you."

"But I killed them," he repeated in between heavy breaths. More tears fell, but he didn't try to shake Danny off. "I'm a...I'm a murderer."

"No!" It might have been a little to harsh, but Danny didn't care. He couldn't let Stiles believe this. He was watching Stiles break apart in front of him. "You are not a murderer. You are _not_ a killer. They were! They were going to kill you and they were going to kill Erica and Boyd. You protected yourself and you also helped protect them."

When Stiles shook his head Danny clenched his hand harder, moving so that he was in his line of sight, making sure he saw his face. "You are not like them! You are nothing like them." He gripped his hands with both of his. Holding on tightly, rubbing his thumbs over the other boy's knuckles in an attempt to soothe him.

Stiles continued to cry, his face a mess of tears and dirt. He brought his legs up to his chest, hugging himself. He still held Danny's hands, squeezing them every so often like he was making sure he was there. Burying his face in his arms and knees, he hid his face, letting the sobs roll through him and the heaving breaths continuing. Danny put his forehead on Stiles' hair, trying to offer any sort of silent comfort he could. It wasn't until Stiles jerked, that they both looked up to see Deaton kneeling beside them. He had a small syringe in his hand, taking it away from Stiles' arm.

"What are you doing," Danny asked quickly, feeling his eyes go wide.

Deaton put his hand on Stiles' shoulder, who flinched a bit, but his eyes started to flutter. "Gave him something to help him calm down, to rest. He needs it."

"Asshole," Stiles stammered. His grip was slackening in Danny's hands. His eyes closing before he forced them open again to glare at the vet.

Deaton gave a small smile in return. "You can hate me later. For now, rest."

Like Stiles had a choice in that. Despite the half-hearted glare and the muttering of no doubt threats and insults against Deaton, Stiles' eyes started to close. His body went limp against the wall, slowly sinking down a little as sleep finally took him under. His hands never left Danny's but he wasn't holding tightly anymore. Now that Stiles was under, Danny looked at his face. Puffy eyes, circles under his eyes, pink streaks from tears down his cheeks. His skin glistened with left over sweat and tears. Slowly, Danny reached up to wipe away the tears on his cheeks, feeling his heart clench at the sight of a sleep deprived, torn Stiles. 

Deaton moved away from them, heading back to the far counter, putting the syringe in the sink. Danny followed after a few moment, carefully removing his other hand from Stiles'. Neither said anything as they listened to the silence of the room. The soft murmur of the lights above them, the hum of the small fridge next to the bottom cabinets for medicines and shots. It was almost deafening, but given the hell of a night Danny has gone through, he almost welcomed it.

When Deaton turned back around, his face was grim. He looked as tired as Danny felt. The vet leaned back against the counter, folding his hands against his legs. "I never expected things to become so...troubled."

"How did you expect them to be," Danny asked folding his arms over his bandaged chest.

Deaton rubbed the back of neck, sighing heavily. "I expected the pack to be strong. I expected them to hold true together."

"A lot of good that has done." Danny said, wiping his hand down his face, gathering excess dirt and left over sweat on his hand. "The pack is in tatters. Two betas are missing while another is newly transformed with no one to really help him. Scott has practically elected exile with Issac in tow. Stiles..." he looked at the sleeping boy against the wall, feeling his own sadness wash over him before pushing it away, "Stiles was wrongly kicked out, hurt beyond words, and now dealing with more than he ever should have to."

"We can help Stiles."

Danny leveled an annoyed look at Deaton. "Help him how?

"Danny, you and I have not always been on the best of terms, but don't play coy," Deaton said with a straight face.

Danny knew what the older man was leading up to. "What if Stiles does not want that?"

"That is up to him," Deaton shrugged. "It is his decision of where he goes from here. Now that he knows the truth, he may have questions. He may want to know more about what it is he can do."

"Questions, yes, but not necessarily the 'want' to pursue this any further. You are suggesting to train him. You saw what he looked like just now. He just found out what he could do and the two times he has used his magic, he has unwillingly killed," Danny said, gesturing to Stiles his a nod of his head.

"That maybe, but both times it was to protect himself. He has no control."

"He doesn’t understand what he has done. You think he will want to control this, after all that has happened? He might not want _anything_ to with it."

Deaton sighed heavily like he was trying to explain to a child. It irked Danny. Yeah their history with each other was not always pleasant and this was one reason why. "He awoke his Spark in a period of heightened emotional stress, on the verge of losing his life. Unleashing his magic along with it."

"He has been in dangerous situations before, why now," Danny pointed out.

"Perhaps this time it was because he was alone," Deaton sullenly supplied. "Because he had no one else to help him."

"That is the pack's fault," Danny spat coldly. "Also partially yours too, or have you forgotten?"

"No I have not. I never will forget my hand in all of this. Regardless of how we got here, we _are still_ here. That boy is hurt and confused. He will want answers."

"Of course he will. This is Stiles, the Sheriff's kid. He is too curious for his own good."

"That he is."

"You knew, didn’t you," Danny said speculatively. "You knew even before I did that Stiles had the ability to perform magic." Deaton avoided his gaze, looking at the sleeping boy in the corner with a look Danny could not guess. "Why had you never told him before or at least helped him to figure it out?

Deaton took a moment before replying, his face in that same mask. "That is a story only Stiles can hear, when he is willing."

Danny rolled his eyes, clenching his jaw at his irritation for the vet. "What about the pack?"

"Time will tell. But I firmly believe that Stiles can help them," the mocha colored man said, nodding his head to his own answer.

"What makes you think he will want to?"

"Because he is a good person, more so than he believes right now. He will do what he can to protect them, to help them."

Danny sighed heavily, slumping against the slab behind him, putting his hands in his shorts pockets. "We shall see." Deaton went back to putting his supplies away, silently ending the conversation, but Danny wasn't done yet. There was more to be said, but the one thing he found his mind going to was of the biggest concern. "He's going to be in danger now, isn't he?"

"He was always in danger," Deaton said without turning towards him. "Twice his powers have surfaced. Twice he has released a large amount of magical energy. Even now I can sense his magic. It surrounds him more now where as a few days ago, it was just a little, like a brush on the surface. His Spark has awoken and with it, his means of magic. It will get stronger."

"He is not going to like the danger it will bring."

"The best he can do is prepare himself. Prepare and grow," he said softly.

"Alright," Danny said, "I'll talk to him. I don't know how much he will want to listen, but I'll try."

Deaton turned back towards him. "Take him home," he said looking at Stiles. "His wounds are superficial. The cream I made him will help them to heal faster. The same for your head wound. You may have a minor concussion, you know how to use your own magic to help with that. I'll keep her," he said gesturing towards the dog. "I'll watch over her through the night. Stiles can come over tomorrow to see her. I will also call the station in the morning, give them a cover story for her disappearance."

Danny nodded while shrugging his shirt back on, careful to not aggravate his stitches, moving over to the dog to give her one more look over and pet on the head. He made a mental note to thank her later for saving Stiles. He crouched next to Stiles, picking him up bridal style. Stiles was light, lighter than he should be. Which meant some disturbing things to Danny. Danny liked to believe he was strong enough to carry Stiles, but as dead weight, it was hard to say. He could feel the ridges of his ribs under his hand and the slight protrudes of his spine on his back. Stiles was always skinny, but was he always this skinny?

Danny needed to keep a more watchful eye on Stiles. Especially now. Deaton followed them out, opening the door for Danny as he carried Stiles out to the car. The whole time Stiles was out of it. He had his arm around Danny's neck, his head on his shoulder. His skin felt cool to the touch, but he was breathing deeply and calmly. It was the first time Danny had seen Stiles look peaceful in the past few days. He hoped it would become a regular occurrence. He walked behind Danny as they headed towards his car, ready to help if Danny needed it. When Stiles was snoozing softly in the passengers seat, Danny stepped back to close the door, nodding at Deaton in thanks. 

Climbing in, he started his car, pulling out onto the road to head back to Stiles' house. The green clock shone at him as he drove, showing it was almost three in the morning. Danny was tired. He had been at school all day so he has been up for almost 24 hours. It was a good thing school was over now, he wouldn't be able to get out of bed for class if he did. He wouldn't want to go to school anyway, not after tonight. Danny found himself glancing over at the sleeping teenage boy beside him. 

Even in the dim lights of his dashboard and the clock, he could see the shadows under Stiles' eyes. It was no secret that Stiles was not getting rest. You could blame his exhaustion on the day's events but that would not be the full truth. Danny knew better.

Driving down the empty road it gave Danny a chance to think. He thought about everything that has happened in such a short time. The drastic changes from what everything had been to what they are now. It was like the world had turned on it's side. No matter how much Danny thought about all that has led them to this point, it still gave him a headache to make sense of it all. The memory of seeing Stiles so upset was never going to leave him. He looked so defeated and disgusted with himself that it bordered on hatred. Danny had thought Stiles would be over the moon when he found out he had magic, but he never expected this. He could never have predicted Stiles would act like this. He bypassed all the awe, excitement, even confusion and went straight to horrible. The boy blamed himself for killing not only the wraiths-which Danny was grateful for-but also the hunters.

He believes he murdered them. How could he think that? He was beaten and tortured, nearly raped. He had no choice and even if he knew about his magic, would he have not protected himself. Stiles didn't know, how could he? 

Danny was surprised Stiles was so adamant about him being anything more than human, that magic was out of the question for him. I guess running with wolves where he practically was the only human would do that to ones mentality. Stiles expected nothing else. He was human and he once believed that was _all_ he was. It made Danny sad to think about how much Stiles thought so little of himself, not to mention how much he was going guilt himself into believing he murdered those hunters. They deserved it after what they had done. Stiles had to know that they would have done far worse to him if his magic hadn't acted.

Danny didn't understand. There were things he wanted to talk to Stiles about, but he had no idea how to bring them. They were painful enough as they were.

He pulled up to Stiles house, the Sheriff's car was in the driveway. That made him nervous. There were no lights on in the house, so he hoped Noah Stilinski was asleep. The last thing Danny wanted was to deal with a tired, worried Sheriff whose son was asleep and coming home well past midnight. The fact that Stiles had driven himself somewhere, since his jeep wasn't parked next to the Sheriff's, it was going to make tomorrow even worse. Regardless, Danny had to get Stiles inside so he could rest, hell he himself was about to crash.

Parking in the driveway, he turned off his car, reaching behind him to grab a jacket from the back seat before getting out to get Stiles. Instead of carrying him, he shook Stiles. He was still delirious, his eyes glazed over, but somehow he understood having to get up out of the car. Danny held him up, his arm wrapped around his waist as he half-carried, half dragged Stiles towards his front door. He grabbed Stiles' keys-which were thankfully in his front jeans pocket, like seriously Danny was counting his blessings that Stiles had his keys on him-before letting themselves inside.

The house was dark and quiet. Danny stopped at the threshold, listening to make sure no one was waiting for them. He helped Stiles up the stairs, carefully trying to not make noise. The creaks of some of the steps under their weight made him pause a few moments, before continuing. The whole time Stiles' head was on Danny's shoulder, soft grumbling escaping his lips incoherent in his words. Making it down the hallway, they entered the bathroom, closing the door behind them before he turned on the light. If Stiles' dad was awake, he didn't want to attract his attention by having a light shining in the hallway.

He sat Stiles down on the close toilet before helping him take off his jacket-more like him taking it off for him, while his arms remained dead limbs. He grabbed a washcloth from under the sink, wetting it before, wiping at Stiles skin. The cold water helped to wake Stiles up a little bit more, be he still didn't say anything or moving much. Danny cleaned the cuts on Stiles' arms, collecting the dried blood and bits of dirt. Rinsing and repeating the process a few times until the boy's skin had a small tinge of pink. He wiped off his face a little before, rinsing the wash cloth off again and leaving it in the sink to dry. Danny ran the water over his own face before drying off. He found the cream Deaton made, squeezing out a dollop of it before applying to Stiles' arms and his own head on his tender cut on the crown. He will have to deal with that in the morning. 

Right now they needed sleep. Bringing Stiles into his bedroom was like a switch. The boy woke up enough to notice his own bed, moving out of Danny's hold to flop on his bed face first. Danny suppressed a chuckle before closing the door and moving to undo Stiles' shoes and pulling them off. He left Stiles the way he was, letting him his exhaustion and the residual effects of the sedative Deaton used to take over again. 

Danny laid on the floor next to the bed using his jacket, folding it up into a ball to lay his head on. He looked at the white ceiling, listening to the sound of the settling house around him, the soft deep breathing of Stiles beside him. Danny could feel his tired body ache and his eyes feel heavy as he finally stopped moving for the day. Slowly he let his body shut down, hoping sleep would come quickly.

The last thing he remembered thinking before total blackness was of the fire, licking at the wraiths. The fire underneath Stiles' hand as his eyes took on a glint he has never seen before, the terrible screams echoing in his ears as he lost consciousness.


	6. If Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally we get more of Noah Stilinski! Will Stiles and his dad be okay? Will Danny give the answers Stiles needs?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whats up everyone! Yet again I bring you a bit of an emotional chapter. I know, I know I'm sorry. (Not really) I love all your comments and points. A lot of you have reminded me on a few things that I will be adding in the future so THANK YOU FOR THAT! THANK YOU ALL FOR YOU LOVE AND SUPPORT! I CANNOT STRESS IT ENOUGH HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU ALL IN RETURN! Enjoy this new chapter because another one will arrive by the end of the weekend. I promise that. I'm almost done and I'm rounding out a few details. ;D cheers y'all!

Stiles awoke with a start, his heart hammering, his sheets twisted around his legs and his skin clammy with a cold sweat. The nightmare still lingering, it's clutches beginning to loosen. He had bitten his lip. keeping himself quiet as the nightmare woke him up. Thankfully he didn't scream out. This was a more mellow version of his nightly terrors, but no less shaking.

It began like it always did, in the Argent basement. Gerard and Grant hovering over him, wicked smiles, knives in hands. He could still feel the blades on his skin, cutting into him like butter. The cold sting on his skin as air rushed into his open wounds, the whole time Erica and Boyd in the distance, watching like they did that night. It was like he was reliving it all over again. The biting cuts and the invasive hands. Grant always getting bolder and bolder with his touches with each nightmare. Stiles feared what his dreams will conjure up next. He didn't want his subconscious to think of anything else.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but thanks to Deaton and that sedative, he didn't have much choice. 

This time, the nightmare started the same, but it ended differently. He did not wake from the pain like he was expecting to do again. No, this time it was due to Erica and Boyd. During the torture, Gerard moved over to betas, Grant pulling him away from them. Erica and Boyd watching with wide eyes. Gerard appeared behind them, a smug smile on his face. The further Stiles was pulled from them, the more they became more beaten down, bloody and bruised. Stiles remembered screaming out for them, but got no answer. The last thing he remembered was Erica's tear filled eyes, staring at him in hurt and terror, her words echoing in ears over and over like a mantra.

_"You didn't come back for us."_

Stiles woke up then, the words still fresh, providing their own sting the nightmarish knives never could. His breathing was labored and the sting of tears did nothing to help with that. That was different. He had never dreamed that before, but he couldn't deny it now. He knew it was a matter of time before it caught up to him. His dream Erica was right. He didn't go back for them. He left them there at the Argent house to endure God knows what else. He left them their and he didn't fight back. No matter how weak he was, he failed them. He failed them even more by not getting to them, getting the pack to go after them as soon a possible. Chris may have let them go, but in what kind of state?

They were weakened enough. Practically easy targets for other to take them. Is that why they were still missing? Were they kidnapped again? Are they being held because they were hurt anyway, just ripe for the picking? Easy opportunity. If not kidnapped again, then where are they? Were they not here because of that night? Was it because of the torture they went through? The fact that Derek, their Alpha, didn't find them? 

 _Or is it because of me_ , Stiles thought, the image of Erica's face making him shiver.

You know that feeling guilt gives you? Mixing with hurt and a wretched sadness, eating away at your insides making it hard to breathe. Yeah, that was feeling he was becoming all to familiar with. He thought learning that he killed 4 people, whether they deserved it or not, made him feel bad, no this was far worse. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't escape what his mind was telling him. He could lie to himself all he wants, deny it with every neuron in his brain. But he couldn't deny what he knew deep down was true. He did leave them and he was too late in his return. They were already gone, still currently missing, because he didn't go back for them.

He could feel the tears in his eyes, threatening to spill over, his breath hitching in his throat as he sat on his bed. It wasn't till he saw a form move in his peripherals that he looked over in surprise. Danny was lying on bedroom floor, still asleep, head cushioned on a black jacket. He was shirtless, but his chest was covered with large bandages. Also he had a fuzzy throw over his body, covering most of his torso so you would have to look closely to see the bandages. Stiles was surprised he seemed to be sleeping comfortably, his face peaceful in the rising morning sun, just peaking through his window. He was still wearing his jeans, much like Stiles was.

Stiles was still wearing his clothes from yesterday, wrinkled and disheveled from tossing and turning last night. He still felt sweaty, his shirt damp around him. Slowly he ran his hand over his eyes, dispelling the tears there. He wasn't going to cry where Danny could hear or where anyone could for that matter. He refused to. He would deal with the nightmare and his guilt his own way. He grabbed his phone from his pocket, looking at the screen and seeing three misses messages. Two from his dad last night asking where he was, and one from Scott. The one from his best friend was short and simple, 'Hey'. Shaking his head, he stuffed the device back into his pocket. He inched his way off his bed and went to his dresser to grab a pair of boxers, long sleeve shirt and jeans. He paused and threw a shirt down at the bed for Danny when he woke up before heading to the bathroom. His dad's bedroom door was ajar, signaling the man was awake and most likely downstairs. 

Stiles had to be quick. He peeled off his clothes after entering the bathroom and locking himself in. He took a look at himself in the mirror and almost stared with his mouth open. His torso was still a mess, but it was not bruised so much anymore. The lingering cuts were healed mostly now, just pink lines on their last mend. The fresh cuts on his arms from the wraiths were a little angry, scabbing over, but someone would think he got in a fight with a cat than supernatural monster. Under the last bits of bandage on his chest and abdomen, the large cuts were mostly healed, now scarring over. The one on his chest was healing white and pink. He was happy to note that it wouldn't be as noticeable, since he was already pale. The same couldn't be said for the one on his gut. That one was larger and it would take more to heal it. The skin was healing nicely, but he could see the scarring tissue, pink and raised. After he took out the left over stitches the morning before, he applied the cream Deaton gave, hoping that it would heal the cuts-secretly hoping that it would make it all disappear and he had no scars at all. Apparently that was wishful thinking. This was the evidence left now. This was for the world to see what he had gone through. 

The bruises on his body were now yellow and fading. Instead of the purple, black and red they were almost a week ago. The bruises that remained persistent in the their appearance were the ones on his hips, highlighting as finger and hand prints from Grant. They were red and yellow now, but still worse that the others. Stiles wasn't aware at the time of how hard Grant was gripping him, trying to hold him still. It made him sick to think about it. His fractured ribs were no longer broken and he could breathe much easier. The criss-cross cuts on his left shoulder blade were still healing as well. They would scar as well, but they would be like the on on his chest. The burn on his side was still there, pink and red skin in a jagged line. That would never fully heal either. He wouldn't classify it as a scar, but he didn't know what else it could be other than discoloration.

Overall he looked...better. His face was healed too. The bruises were gone and the cuts on his eyebrow and lip long since faded to only be slight lines. The cream worked wonders, he had to admit. Sadly it would do nothing for the shadows under his eyes. That he would have to endure. Just like everything else.

Stripping off the bandages, he hopped into the shower after it warmed up. He heated water running down his sore body, relaxing and soothing. The steam helped to clear his nose and his head by fogging it up as he breathed. He tried to not think during the shower, instead letting himself enjoy it. He needed the small bit of relaxation. Stiles felt hot water run deep into every part of his skin, into every muscle, every lingering bruise, and every healing cut. He stood under the spray for a solid 10 minutes before washing his hair and body, getting rid of the previous day and letting it wash down the drain. 

Stepping out in the steam filled bathroom felt good. He felt clean but he also felt tingly and lighter than he did before he stepped in. He didn't redress his cuts, deciding that the cream would be enough. After reapplying the cream to all cuts, even those on his arms, he dressed, brushed his teeth, and went out to head downstairs.

He hadn't really seen his dad since that Friday night. Only in passing or not at all. It made him sad, but he had no doubt his dad was still disappointed in him. Probably hurt and worried too. He just couldn't tell his dad the truth. He couldn't imagine his dad's reaction and even if tried, he always picture his dad looking at him like he was crazy. He supposed he could prove it to him, I mean he did have evidence, werewolves who are-were-friends, not mention his magic. So yeah he could prove the validity of the past year to his dad. However, what Stiles most wanted to avoid other than his dad thinking he was crazy, was his fear. Fear of his son. Fear of what his son has gotten into and having lied about it for so long. 

Stiles knew that if his dad knew, then it would paint a target on his back. It was bad enough he was already a target because his was a law enforcement officer, now those who knew his name would find out he was the Sheriff's son. They wouldn't just go after him, but also his father. They would do that not just to get to him and therefore the pack, but also to find out what his dad knew. He couldn't let that happen. He had to make sure his dad stayed as far from this life as possible. It didn't matter what happened to him, this was his doing anyways. His dad never had to know. 

Heading downstairs he found his dad in the kitchen, sitting at the table drinking coffee, reading the newspaper. When his son came in the room, Noah Stilinski looked up to meet his eyes. Stiles felt fidgety, but stood still under his dad's gaze. He tried not to notice the bags under the man's eyes and the tenseness of his body as he watched him. 

"Hey dad," he said, putting a smile on his face.

"Hey kiddo," his dad said, putting down the newspaper. "You look better," he said, moving his eyes up Stiles body and face, searching for any more signs of trauma.

I feel better, really." Stiles said, stretching slightly and feeling some of his muscles pop with a dull ache. He really did feel better. His body felt better than it had in days. Minor aches and pains here and their, but that was a given after what he went through. He supposed the real reason he felt like this was due to Deaton's healing and the cream he made him. Stiles wasn't sure how Deaton healed him since he was asleep at that time, but he was certain Deaton used a little 'mojo' to do it.

Stiles had never seen Deaton use magic. He wondered if it was how Danny did or if it was different for each user. Either way it made him curious. He supposed he should at least say thank you to the vet, but his emotions were still raw from that night. He didn't want to see the man and have it all flood back into him. He already said what he needed to that night anyway. He did not trust the man, but he wasn't ungrateful for what he did.

His dad nodded, taking a sip of coffee which Stiles eyed with wide eyes. His body moved before his mind did, going over to the coffee maker, pulling a mug from the drying rack next to the sink. Stiles pour the dark liquid and added a little sugar and some sweet cream creamer in it. Yes, that is how he liked his coffee, so sue him. Not everyone can drink it black. Sitting down across from his dad at the table, he nursed his mug, take a sip and smiling to himself at the comforting taste.

"So where were you last night? You weren't home and your jeep is missing from the driveway. Were you out with Scott?"

"No," he said honestly, ignoring the mention of Scott. "I was with Danny, he's a friend from school. We just went out last night." His dad smiled faintly at him, eyeing him with a glint.

"The same boy who is up in your room, still asleep on the floor?" His dad grinned then at Stiles' saucer like eyes.

Stiles nodded after a moment, at a loss for words. He should have figured his dad would check on him, especially after getting home so late. Not to mention how last Friday went. Any parents who gave a damn about their child would act the same way. It made Stiles feel a little better that at least his dad still cared about him, despite his lying. "Uh...yeah that's him," he said carefully. "He gave me a ride home and it was already so late, so I asked him to stay."

"So are you two...you know," his dad began, looking away from his son. Stiles saw his dad try and grasp for the right words, his face turning a little pink. "Are you and he...you know-."

"As a matter of fact, dad, I do _not_ know. What are you getting at," Stiles asked in utter confusion. Why was his dad acting like this? What did he think he and Danny were up to?

Noah sighed, looking up at the ceiling, like he was praying for patience. Well Stiles couldn't agree more with that if his dad didn't spit it out. "Are you dating?"

Stiles nearly choked on the cup of coffee. The hot liquid going down the wrong pipe to make him gagged and cough. He felt his skin heat up at his attempts at clearing his air passages to breathe. When he looked at the Sheriff he felt his own eyes go wide, unintentionally looking at the ceiling almost like he expected Danny to have heard it too and either bust up laughing or run out of the house. It was even more embarrassing when Noah looked at him with a slight smug look like he just caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Okay, first off," Stiles struggled, his voice sounding wheezy. "Danny and I are _not_  Danny and I." At the arched brow on his dad's face, Stiles continued, flailing his arms in embarrassment. "Honestly dad, we are not dating. We don't even like each other like that. He's a friend, that's all."

"U huh," the hint of a smile still on his old man's face. 

Stiles threw a piece of his dried toast at his dad, it wasn't like he was eating much anyway. "I'm serious! Danny is friend, nothing more. He has been around the past few days, helped me get over the beating the other school 's players did last Friday. He stood up for me that night. He's a good guy dad, honestly, he is."

He couldn't mistake the dark look that clouded over his dad's features when he mentioned last Friday. He remembered all too well the look on his dad's face, seeing the cuts and bruises on his face. If the man saw the rest of his body that night, who knows what would happen. He could imagine his dad disappearing in front of him, the Sheriff stepping in and taking control of everything, hunting down the bastards that hurt him. Stiles couldn't allow that to happen. He couldn't let his dad do anything rash, not for his own mistakes and most certainly not after Stiles had lied to him for so long. 

If only things were different. After everything, he wasn't sure he would be able to look his dad in the eye again. He felt so much guilt, so much anger towards himself for letting this go on that it has become almost second nature to lie to the man. He never meant to hurt his dad. The man wasn't stupid, he was _goddamn_ Sheriff. Stiles had no doubt he knew Stiles was hiding something, many somethings, and his lying was a regular thing anymore. It made his heart clench painfully, knowing that his dad was hurting, watching his son drift away from him. Stiles had no choice though. He had to protect his dad. From all of this. He knew that if his dad found out, the man would do anything to prevent Stiles' involvement. Hell he would throw himself into danger if it meant protecting his son.

 _Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, huh,_ he thought to himself sadly.

He already lost his mother and that hurt more than anything else in the world, he couldn't lose his dad too. He wouldn't survive that.

If only things were simpler. Now they are even more complicated. Last night he found out he could do magic. Magic of all things. In his wildest dreams, he thought such a thing could be possible, but he never once truly believed it. Yet after everything he has seen and witnessed over the past year alone, it made sense. Magic had to exist in some way. The supernatural doesn't come without some form of magic right? 

Last night he found out what he was capable of. Or at least in short terms anyway. He had no idea what that all meant. On one hand, he couldn't deny he was thrilled, excited even. The idea of no longer being a frail, weak human, dependent on others during the supernatural crises was appealing. Despite starting to train with Argent, he still felt weak. He knew it would start to fade with time, the more he learned, the more Chris taught him, but he couldn't shake that feeling. The feeling of helplessness. The desperation to do something to help and not stand on the sidelines. Even if he had no pack now, hardly any friends, he would still help protect them if it came down to it. He knew that for sure.

On the other hand, he was terrified. Terrified of what it all meant for him. Was he still human? He never wanted to be a werewolf, one reason why he turned down Peter Hale's offer all those months ago. Back when the man was a bat crap crazy, murderous, Alpha. He turned it down. He didn't want that, even if Peter killed him then, he never wanted to be a creature to be feared. Now, he wasn't sure what he was. Human or not, he still felt that same fear. The chilled spike inside his gut, sitting like a weight and never lifting. He has only had his magic for a short time-Deaton confirmed that-and what has he done with it so far? He killed four hunters and two wraiths.

He has already hurt people with it. Granted, a part of him knew the hunters deserved it and the wraiths were monsters; wanting nothing more than to kill him and Danny, but still. He has never killed before. He may have had a hand in Peter's death back when he was a psycho Alpha, but it was not him to deal the final blow. He knew the Molotov cocktails wouldn't kill the feral Alpha, it would just harm him or at least distract him enough for Derek to do what needed to be done. It was all for the protection of the town, his friends, his dad. At that time it was to help Scott hold onto hope of returning human. Yet even now, Stiles knew Scott would never have done it. He never would have killed someone like that, no matter what it would have done for him. But Stiles?

Stiles never thought about Peter's demise as being an accomplice to murder, not once did he think that his hands were just as dirty as Scott's or Derek's in that. Yet now, now he wasn't so sure. Was that a foreshadowing of what his future would become? Was that his first clue? If he so easily could have killed Peter, deranged Alpha or no, then what was to stop him from doing the same to others if given the right incentive.

That was one thing he never thought about when he and Scott were brought into this life. He never thought about what it would cause him to do. What it would cause him to become. What his dad would think of him now, he couldn't help but wonder. Not to mention the rest of his former pack. Would Scott see him in a new light? Would Lydia trust him again? Would Erica and Boyd be afraid of him now if they were here? Would Derek...would Derek even look at him again?

 _How naive was I,_ he thought. _To think innocence would stay true and pure._

Stiles wished things were different. If not different, that they were better. He wished some things never happened. If only those things never happened, he could enjoy what he uncovered, what he learned. As much as he enjoyed learning about the supernatural, seeing things that he thought was only pop culture, the stuff of imagination, he was naive to think there was no price to pay for it. The world was darker now. Dark, twisted, cold, and cruel. No longer hidden behind the false image of what the world was made out to be. 

_If only._

"Well I'll be glad to meet him," his dad said, breaking him out of his troubling thoughts. "That way I can thank him."

Stiles nodded, going back to his coffee as his dad pulled the paper back over to him. No one mentioning the previous Friday further. Stiles knew his dad would not drop the subject. Eventually he would get something out of Stiles or he would find someone who knew the truth. It was a good thing only three people knew what happened. Deaton would have no reason to cross paths with his dad. Chris mostly kept to himself anyways and was practically an upstanding citizen according to the law. That was just part of the facade he used to hide what he truly does for a living. That only left Danny.

Danny knew about that night. The only he didn't know was every vivid detail. Stiles had never spoken about what had happened and Danny never asked. He was thankful for that. The evidence on his body spoke volumes for him. If there was a time Stiles felt comfortable talking to Danny about it, he hoped it would be a time when it was easier to handle. If he talked about it now, he feared he would have a panic attack. He nearly had one last night and he didn't want to burden Danny with that again.

He remembered Danny's face, hauntingly sad eyes, panic etched into his skin. It made Stiles feel not only guilty but sad that in his own panic, he caused Danny to feel the same.

He needed to tell Danny the story he told his dad about that night. It was more an excuse rather than a story, but he was sticking to it. He had to. If there was a time for Stiles to tell his dad the truth on everything, then it had come and gone. He couldn't tell him now. Especially not after Stiles had uncovered his magic. He feared what his dad would do if he found out. What he feared most in that moment, is if his dad would look at him the same way.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs shocked him back to the present, someone coming through the living room to find the two men sitting at the table, both looking up to meet the intruder. Danny stood in the open threshold, his short black hair slightly tousled, his dark eyes tired. He was wearing one of Stiles' shirts; black with a small Captain America shield on the left side of the chest, since his own was still in tatters, which was smart on his part. It was a little too small for him, but it was passable. His jeans from yesterday were wrinkled and a little dirty, but hopefully his dad wouldn't notice. He was rubbing the back of his head when he came in, his eyes going a little wide and his mouth gaping open when he saw the Sheriff sitting at the table. Stiles had to admit Danny looked adorable in that moment. If there was a caption to be made, it would have been 'Oh shit busted.'

Stiles had to drink from his cup to hide his smile.

"Uh hi," Danny stammered, looking between both men before his eyes fell on Stiles.

"Morning," his dad said. "You must be Danny."

Danny nodded, his eyes momentarily flicking to Stiles before he stepped further into the kitchen, extending his hand to Noah. The man stood up, shaking his hand in the process. Stiles could see a glimpse of a small smile on his dad's face.  "Yes sir," Danny responded automatically. Stiles has rarely ever seen Danny nervous, but when he did, there was always a slight blush to the tops of his cheeks. He cleared his throat and nodded towards Stiles. "I am sorry if I interrupted. I didn't mean to sleep so late."

Stiles didn't miss the way Noah's eyebrow cocked, the same hint of smile on his face. "It's fine Danny," Stiles said waving his hand. "We were exhausted last night."

"Speaking of which," his dad interjected, sitting back down, looking at Danny with a hard look, making the teen gulp. "Where were you both last night that you were out so late. I could understand you and Scott," he said eyeing Stiles, "well because you are hellions at best, but you know better than to be out so late without letting me know."

"It was my fault." Danny said ahead of Stiles. The Sheriff looked back at Danny, the boy blushing pink again at the attention. "We went out to a party last night at our friend Lydia's house. Since the last day of school was yesterday, she does it every year. I asked Stiles to go and we stayed longer than expected. I drove him home last night. We were going to get his jeep this morning."

Stiles had to admit, it sounded plausible. Danny didn't even stutter. It was also partly true. Lydia did usually hold parties at her house, none of which Stiles had ever attended, but he did know about them. Whether there was one last night he was not aware of it. Noah was quiet for a few moments, silently assessing Danny's statement. Stiles hated when his dad went all Sheriff, but sometimes he thought his dad couldn't help it. He couldn't see his face, but he could tell that he was staring at Danny, waiting for him to break or fidget too much under his gaze. When Danny stood calmly, looking back at the man evenly, his dad looked at him. 

"Stiles?"

Stiles smiled sheepishly. "I know, I'm sorry dad. I know, I should have called. I didn't think about it and I messed up. We weren't out too late, but yeah I should have told you ahead of time where I was. I swear there was no alcohol, there was no drugs or drinking. Lydia may be popular, but even her mother would kill her for throwing a party with booze."

Stiles didn't look away from his father. He knew his dad was still testing them, waiting for a hint of deception. To be fair, all of it was a lie, but Stiles had gotten very good at those. It made his stomach twist at yet another lie he had to tell his father. _When would it end,_ he thought. He watched his dad sigh heavily before nodding his head. Taking a sip of his coffee before speaking again.

"Well, don't let it happen again. I'm glad you had fun though. It's been a while since you did something fun with friends." His dad's face grew a little sad at that last statement and it made Stiles nervous. He was glad his dad believed him, but at the same time, he almost felt like his dad was rolling over. It surprised him. 

His dad always fought for answers, more answers than was necessary. And for something like this he would ground him as punishment at minimal. This was not the first time Stiles had been out late, coming home at early morning hours and worrying his dad. If Stiles had to count, he would lose track. Thankfully his dad did not know about all those times, working the night shifts during some of those. It made it easier to hide his bruises and guilt if his dad had no clue. Other times he wasn't so lucky. His dad grilling him for answers, then receiving excuses or explanations that could be easily understood, but the end result would be him getting grounded.

This time, there was none of that. No further questions about the party, the people, what was 'actual' time they got home. There was no guilt tripping to make Stiles talk more. There was no reprimanding. Stiles couldn't tell if it was because Danny was here, helping to spin a story with him, or because his dad had given up trying to get him to tell the truth.

Either way, it made Stiles feel an enormous weight of guilt settle in his stomach, turning his insides into butterflies.

"Me too dad." He said, looking down.

"Come on Danny," his dad said, waving his hand at the boy who still stood near the door. "Have some coffee."

"Thank you sir," Danny said, moving over to the coffee put to pour himself a small mug. He added a generous helping of sugar to it, something Stiles took note in.

"Please, don't call me sir," Noah said,moving to go pour himself more coffee into his travel thermos. "I ain't that old."

"Pushing 45 is pretty old," Stiles said with a cheeky grin.

His dad raised an eyebrow at him. "You are the reason I have so many wrinkles at this age, kiddo."

Stiles felt his smile grow wider. Rolling his eyes, he went back to his coffee, Danny sitting next to him at the table with his own. They shared a look, Stiles giving a small nod, Danny giving a knowing smile. 

"Alright, I need to head to work," the Sheriff said, taking his gun from the table to strap it to his hip. "I'll see you later tonight son." His dad looked at them both, looking a little unsure. Stiles wasn't sure why, so he got up from his chair to go hug his dad. He felt his dad's arms wrap around his shoulders and his face in his hair. Stiles hoped his dad didn't notice the how quick it had started to grow, like he did. He didn't really care though. He relaxed a little into his dad's embrace, smelling his aftershave, coffee, and laundry detergent all mixed together. It always calmed him, always made him think of home. He never wanted that to end.

"Bye dad," he said into his shoulder.

Noah squeezed his son one more time before letting go. "Okay, Danny," he said, looking at the other boy, "It was nice to meet you. I hope to see you around again."

"Me too, sir," Danny said with a crooked smile.

Noah rolled his eyes at the formal word. Taking his thermos and keys from the table, heading out the front door, leaving the two boys alone. The silence was comfortable, but it still made Stiles turn around to look at Danny. His friend stared back with the same smile and a cocked eyebrow.

"He thinks you and I are an item." Stiles said plainly. 

Danny nearly spat out his coffee, pink rising on his cheeks in embarrassment, as his eyes widened. "He what?"

Stiles waived off his friend's look. "Don't lose sleep over it. I told him that it was not true." Sitting back down with a sly smile. "I mean, me and you, highly unlikely."

Danny's face fell, his eyes downcast, face wrinkling in a deep frown. "Yeah, right."

Stiles had to do a double take. It was a shock to hear Danny sound like that. Almost like disappointment? "No, no, I don't mean it like that," Stiles rambled, holding up his hands in a placating way, almost knocking over his coffee mug in the process. "I just think that it wouldn't be right because you know, I'm-."

"Not gay," Danny supplied. Now Stiles knew that voice. That wasn't disappointment, that was hurt! _Shit, now what did I do,_ he thought to himself.

"Oh no, no that's also not why. I'm bisexual actually if I'm being truthful." Stiles said matter-of-factly, watching the other boy look back up with big eyes. "It's just that you and me, I never really thought about it before. Don't get me wrong, your great Danny," he said with a smile, clapping him on the shoulder and squeezing, "but I guess I just don't see you like that."

"Why not," asked Danny, genuinely curious.

Stiles shrugged. "Maybe at one point I did, when we were younger. Now, it's just different. I do like you, but I guess I've known you for so long that you are more like a cousin to me."

"Cousin?" Danny said arching an eyebrow. "That's a new one."

Stiles chuckled. "Yeah. I mean I've had crushes before. Plus, I don't think you see me like that anyway. Yeah, cousin's makes sense, it's not quite like how Scott and I am...or are... _was..._ " Stiles stopped, his mind drifting towards Scott. Often nowadays when he thought of his best friend, his chest would hurt. He had not heard from Scott in days, not since that Friday. Not one message, not a stop in at his house, nothing. It was like Scott dropped off the planet. Rather, Stiles had according to Scott. Yet, you would think for someone you care about, you would want to still be in contact with them. It became even more real as more time passed that Scott didn't care. He didn't care that Stiles had been kidnapped and tortured, he didn't care that he had been MIA for 5 days, and he didn't care that he hurt his best friend, betrayed and hurt him, to work with the man who haunted his nightmares.

Stiles knew why Scott did it. It was to protect his mom and Allison. But what about him? Did Stiles not matter to him? Did he think that Stiles was just collateral damage?

"Hey," Danny asked, putting his hand on Stiles' arm, making him flinch from the sudden contact.

Stiles didn't mean to flinch. He couldn't help it. The touch was like a slap, a reminder to him of that night. It may not have been in a harmful way, but the skin to skin contact was no less a flash of muscle memory. Not all the touches he got that night resulted in injury. Not all of them resulted in his screaming in pain. Not all were painful. Some were meant to be...pleasurable. They never were. 

The touches Grant made. The gentle caresses and slight grips down his sides, over his arms, lingering on his hipbones, drifting further and further towards his ass; it all would haunt him in his dreams, followed by pain and agony. He would see the hunger and manic in the Grant's eyes. The shear pleasure it brought the man at the uncomfortable, displeasing, nausea his hands brought Stiles. The way his skin would crawl under those fingers. It made him sick thinking about it and it made him want to rub his skin raw in hopes it would wash away the memories.

He knew Danny would never hurt him, yet it did nothing against the phantom hands that haunted him.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispered, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

Danny shook his head. "Don't be. Don't you _ever_ be sorry," he said gently, but with a firm emphasis on each word. "You have every right to be cautious, to be defensive against anyone."

"Do I," Stiles asked sadly.

"Yes!"

"Maybe I brought this on myself," Stiles said, thinking out loud, not fazed by the near shout Danny made. "Maybe I am being punished for not running away from this life. For not running away the moment Scott became a werewolf. Instead of being cautious, I delved deeper, ran headfirst into it like I belonged to this world."

"You and I both know that you never would have ran. Your best friend was in trouble and you helped him to understand and figure it out. Not to mention you did the same for other members of the pack," Danny said.

Stiles scoffed. "Helped? A lot of good it did. I get kidnapped and beaten," Stiles said, counting off his points on his fingers, "I get betrayed by my best friend of 10 years, kicked out of the pack by a man I thought was beginning to trust again, ignored and ridiculed by them even when I was a part of it, and stood on the sidelines like a cheerleader, watching as they all risked tooth and limb to protect this town."

"That's not the way I see it," Danny began his tone hard, but his eyes soft and earnest. "The way I see it, is that your so called 'pack' just lost the most valuable member they had, the one who thought everything through, no matter how tedious or exhausting it was, the one who risked more than they ever should have for very little gain. They never protected this town Stiles, not once. They fought to protect themselves, the town was just a happy bonus."

"Why are you saying all this? What makes any difference?"

Danny pushed back from the table forcefully, almost knocking over the chair. He got up and paced around the small dining room, almost heading back into the living room. "Because it does make a difference!"

Stiles was stunned into silence. Watching as Danny paced and ranted, clawing his hands through his short hair. The small shirt on his torso riding up just a little to reveal the tanned, tone skin underneath. The boy's tanned skin getting pink again, but this time from anger.

"It makes all the difference. Stiles, you were always a part of this world. I mean, shit, you can do magic. That pack may have started out to _be_ a pack but it never became one, not fully. What kills me the most is how little they cared. How little they cared about you, how little they cared about each other, how little they cared about anyone else in this town. So long as they were the major benefactors, the only heroes, they thought all was as it should be. It doesn't work that way!"

"What are you saying," Stiles asked quietly, his mind numb from the rant.

"I am saying that a pack is not just a group of werewolves or friends coming together to fight when it is needed. A pack means family," Danny said, stopping to lean on the table, his hands planted flat on the wood, eyes boring into Stiles, trying to get him to understand. "A pack means safety, a family, a _home._ People who will stand by you, will fight with you, not just _for_ you. The Hale pack used to protect all of Beacon Hills, have their hands in everything so that they could help better guard the town. Monsters and creatures are every where and who else would stop them if not the pack? That is how it once was. Long ago, Derek once knew that, now...now I am not so sure."

"Your saying Derek is...a bad Alpha?"

Danny shook his head. "I think he is...lost."

Stiles absorbed all this information. He didn't know what to make of it all. Danny had said more than he ever did on his knowledge of the supernatural world. Obviously, Danny had been at this longer, but he never thought Danny knew Derek's family, or at least how they were. Stiles barely remembered and he was Danny's age when the fire happened. It was the worst disaster to ever happen in Beacon Hills.

Stiles could see why Danny thought Derek was lost. The man had lost his family. He had lost his sister, Laura, to Peter when he was out of his mind. For all intents and purposes, Derek had every right to want to be lost. He was thrust back into this town after the death of his sister and was now kept here for his duties as an Alpha. Maybe Derek never wanted to stay. He did anyway, he tried to make a pack out of a bunch of rag tag teenagers. Stiles knew that it was Alpha instinct to make a pack or find one, so he couldn't blame Derek for that. He wouldn't know that feeling. 

What he did know, was loss, hurt, betrayal, feeling raw, and lost. He felt all of those before. When his mom died, Stiles withdrew into himself. Nightmares plaguing every night, often he woke up in screams and tears. His dad was not much different, until one day Stiles snapped out of it, seeing the many liquor bottles his dad emptied. He couldn't let that happen again, so he took up the household duties, trying to fill a little of his mom's shoes. Cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry, anything to make it easier, while also trying to get her absence to hurt less. It worked for a time. It worked and he started to feel better, go to school, hang with Scott, try out for Lacrosse. All of it helped to distract him at one point until he no longer felt they were distractions. His dad was getting better too, no longer throwing himself into his work or losing himself at the bottom of a bottle. They would spend as much time as they could together, hoping that family would ease the hurt of losing family. With time he started to feel like a weight was being lifted.

But now, not he felt all of those again. It wasn't because someone died this time. It was because of one night. One night that changed _everything_. He no longer had people he thought cared for him. He lost what he hoped to one day call a second family. He lost a couple of people he wanted to be friends with. He lost the trust of someone who was probably as damaged as his was, if not more so. Any hope Stiles had at those thoughts or maybe wishes, were now gone. At the same time he bared witness to trauma that he would carry for the rest of his life. It was literally scarred on his body.

"Yeah," he said softly, barely above a whisper. "I dare say he ain't the only one."

Danny sat back down, letting the quiet swallow up the room. Not a single one of them said anything. They finished their coffee, both wrapped up in their thoughts, listening to the birds chirping from the open kitchen window above the sink. The sun was shining higher now, but it was still morning, well late morning. Stiles supposed they should probably go get his jeep. He wanted to see Luna too. The previous night was like a kick in the ass when he thought about it. 

He was about to propose they both get ready to go. He wanted a shower first and he suspected Danny might also, or at least might want to stop at his place to get a shirt that actually fit.

“Alright, let’s go get my baby,” Stiles said, getting up from the table.

“I hope you mean your jeep,” Danny said with a smirk. 

Stiles didn’t have a chance to say anything. The knock on his door echoing off the walls like it was made to be a drum. 

Stiles looked back at Danny in question, the other boy raising his eyebrows and lifting a shoulder. Neither of them had obviously expected a visitor so whoever was here wasn’t invited.

Another, louder knock came then. Moving together they both walked slowly to the door. When Stiles got close enough, he took a deep breath before peaking through the peep hole, his heart beating faster than it probably should. Hey, he’s seen horror movies, you never know who has a gun behind the door ready to shoot you through the peep hole and in the eye, or a large knife for that matter. 

Imagine his surprise when he saw a petite body, fashionable clothes, creamy skin, and long strawberry blonde hair. 

He opened the door making Danny suck in a breath behind him. 

“Lydia?”

 

*** * * * * * ***

"Sheriff," Deaton said in a warm greeting. 

"Alan," he said in return with a nod. 

There were two people in the waiting room when the Sheriff came in. One was a young woman with a kid, who had a small puppy sleeping in his arms, the other was an elderly woman with a cat in its kennel. When they saw the Noah walk in their eyebrows went up, but no one said anything. When Deaton came from the back after hearing the little bell above the door, the vet too looked at him with raised eyebrows, but was warm in his greeting.

"What brings you in," Deaton asked.

"Well I got a message that you had one of my dogs," Noah said plainly.

Deaton gave him a knowing look, that same glint in his eyes the man was practically famous around town for. He waved the Sheriff to follow him, holding open the little gate for him before leading him to the back. When they got to the back, Deaton kept going, heading past the two operating rooms and a lab room before opening the door at the end of the hall. It led to the outside kennels. Six large, gate to gate cages stood to the right, protected by large overhang. There was another dog back here, a pit-bull who barked at them once before sticking out it's tongue as they passed. Two cages down, was Luna. 

The multicolored German Shepherd was lying on her stomach, a large white bandage around her torso. She looked half conscious, but when she saw Deaton and Noah, her ear perked up and she opened her eyes fully. Her tail wagged a little, but otherwise she didn't move.

When Deaton was unlocking the cage to let them in, Noah spoke, "What happened to her?"

"Didn't you get my message," Deaton asked, not looking at him.

"I mean what really happened," he asked rolling his eyes even though Deaton couldn't see.

"Wraiths," the vet said looking at him with a look Noah has not seen in a while. It made his blood run cold.

Noah felt his eyes widen. _Damn this town and its' lure to the supernatural creatures_. "Wraiths." Noah said, more to himself, letting the word roll off his tongue like a curse. "What were wraiths doing in town?"

Deaton shook his head. "They were in the Preserve."

"Wraiths have not been seen around this town in years," Noah said, kneeling down beside Luna, running his fingers through her head. She leaned back a bit to lick at his fingers, a soft whine escaping her throat.

"That is true," Deaton said in a matter-of-fact tone. "It has been over a decade to be more precise."

"What would bring them here now?" The older Stilinski thought out loud. "What would cause them to attack a dog? Or better question, why was she in the forest at all?"

Deaton shrugged beside him, checking the dogs bandages to make sure they were still secure. "I'm not sure. I'll have to do research on that, but they could have been here for anything or nothing at all."

"Or maybe I should ask Stiles."

Deaton stopped, eyeing the Sheriff in mock confusion. Noah has come to see right through that false disarrangement. "Stiles?"

Noah nodded. "Part of my job, Alan as you know, if to pay attention to details and gather information. When I heard your message, I asked a few of my deputies. Apparently my son was at the station yesterday, outside with Luna, until they both went missing. I never went back to the station last night, instead I headed home after my shift. Imagine my surprise when I was told that one of our unit's dogs was gone and my son was last seen with her."

Alan seemed to still for a split second before continuing his examination. He checked under the bandages, moving a finger underneath them to make sure they were not too tight, also checking for any rips or tears. The lack of immediate response from the former Emissary was enough to give Noah his answer.

"That can mean only one thing," Noah said not to anyone in particular. He sighed heavily before saying the word he suspected for a long while, “He knows, doesn't he?"

Deaton gave a small smile, his eyes a little sad, but still with their usual glint like he always knew more than anyone else. He nodded though, confirming Noah's suspicions, but he didn't say anything, instead petting Luna beside them as she laid back and enjoyed the attention.

"I should have told him," Noah said. "I should have told him long ago."

Deaton got up from his crouch, smoothing out his jacket and stepping to check Luna's water bowl. "It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"I am aware," Noah said rubbing his hand down his face. "It doesn't make it easier."

"You cannot blame yourself."

"No?" He asked, looking at his long time friend, straightening up from Luna much to her disappointment. "I am his father and I kept this from him. He had every right to know about all of this years ago."

"What would you have said," the vet asked calmly with a shrug. "Do you think he would have believed you?"

"He's always been open minded, it was possible," Noah admitted. "But I still did nothing. Especially after his first run-ins with _Derek Hale_. Of all people, I thought that boy would be able to help Stiles uncover the truth himself, but I was wrong. I underestimated Stiles' hesitation, his wariness, his grasp on his brain power and what he sees more than he suspects. Never once did he have a reason to believe he could do more and we _let_ him."

"But he did come into his own. Maybe not in the way we expected, but it still had the same result. He knows about his magic and isn't that what we hoped for?"

Noah nodded. "Yet you won't tell how he came to find out, will you?"

"It does not matter how Stiles awoke his Spark," Deaton said gesturing for the Sheriff to leave the cage first, closing the cage door behind them to leave Luna inside. "What matters is that he did. He is going to need to learn to control it. He is going to  _want_  to. His curiosity will ensure that."

"So train him. He knows the truth now, so offer to train him, help him. He must know about you, if he knows about Derek, then he must. It will help him understand."

"It is...far more complicated than that," Deaton said, rubbing the back of his neck, shaking his head.

Noah squinted his eyes moment, a frown on his face. "What do you mean?"

"Unforeseen complications have come about," Deaton said hesitantly. "Derek and his pack are having a few issues of their own."

"Is Stiles a part of those issues?"

Deaton didn't answer at first. It made Noah worry even more. He didn't know everything about what his son had been up to but he suspected a lot of the past year. He knew the reports that he has been seen around Derek Hale and a few other teenagers his age. Even before those reports, Stiles and Scott had been seen with the older boy. Even when Derek was considered a murder suspect-which was not the Sheriff's doing, that was him following evidence and the law at bringing Derek into the fray about his sister's murder. As her living, _sane_ relative, he had to be told. It was law. Noah never got the full story about what happened to Laura, but since he learned that Derek had a pack of his own after all the wild animal attacks as they were dubbed, he suspected it was a rogue Alpha. Which made sense, no wonder Derek had a pack now. 

He felt for the boy, he really did. It couldn't have been easy. And then the disappearance of his uncle just made everything seem worse. Derek Hale had been dealt a very shitty hand at life and he was sad at how much the boy had changed from the care-free teenager he once was. He hadn't seen him or the other members of his pack around, just hints of them here and there, but he supposed that was for the best. The less law enforcement knew the better.

When Stiles was brought into all of this he wasn't sure, but he knew it was after Laura's body was found. That was when everything started getting weird. Stiles became more secretive. He also started lying more. At first Noah was able to detect it, sometimes calling him out on it, yet Stiles never cracked. He never spilled any hints of his involvement with the supernatural. Noah knew better though. He suspected Scott was a part of it too. In what way, he still didn't know, but he found he didn't care so long as both boys were staying safe. 

Safe was a flexible term anymore. He has seen the bruises on Stiles, the cuts and wariness. He has even seen the shadows under his eyes. However, none of that compared to now. It had gotten worse in the past week. So much worse that it worried him. He thought that Stiles had unlocked his magic a while ago, but all evidence pointed to the opposite. If Stiles had his magic, there would be no way he would look the way he does. Also he thought, or maybe hoped, that he would have come to his dad by now, asking about it, or hinting at it in some way. Stiles was smart, cunning even, he would have found a way to get information from his dad if he really wanted to know the truth. 

Now, he was more worried than ever. His son looked like he was slowly withering away and he wanted to help, but he didn't know how. After all the lying and dodging Stiles has done, Noah felt bad for ever grounding him for it. It made Noah look like a hypocrite. Wasn't he doing the same thing? Hell he had been doing it much longer.

"Is he being safe?" Noah asked Deaton, who hadn't spoken. "Is he at least being looked after?"

Deaton nodded his assurance, his lips turning up just a little. "He is. It'll all work out, but right now, Stiles doesn't trust me. With good reason. The boy sees me as too cryptic and secretive to place his trust in. I can't say I blame him. Old habits die hard. I have hidden myself from the world ever since the fire on the Hale house those years ago."

"Alan, you started to withdraw even before then. Ever since Claudia."

Deaton's eyes went downcast. "I kept my distance to allow time for you and Stiles. Claudia's death was hard to come to terms with, after everything I tried to do to help."

"You blame yourself for her passing." Noah realized. That can't be right. Alan Deaton was not one to hold in that kind of guilt, not when he knew his efforts were fruitless from the very beginning. Yet they still held out hope when Claudia got sick. They held out hope that maybe things would turn out differently.

"I blame myself for not being prepared." Deaton said looking at Noah apologetically. "Which is exactly what I want Stiles to be. He is going to need that."

"Why?"

"Others will come. His magic will attract more to Beacon Hills, as it did the wraiths. It is not just the Nemeton anymore or the pack territory. With Stiles' magic now in the fold, now encompassing this town, more will come for it. For him."

"All the more reason for you to teach him," Noah said.

"It is not that simple. Like I said before, I hid myself well. I bound my powers Noah. I did that after the fire." Deaton said, turning away to walk back inside, his head hung down some.

"What?!" Noah nearly shouted before realizing people could be around.

"I still have some of my abilities, mostly due to the Nemeton. But my abilities now rely on artifacts, runes, and spells." When Noah stared dumbfounded, trying to think of more to say or shout about, Deaton held up a hand to stop him. "That was my choice to help keep the town a little under the radar. My time as an Emissary is over, has been for years."

"You actually believe that," Noah said still in shock. "What is Stiles going to do now? If you will not help him then who?"

"I never said I wouldn't help him." Deaton smiled, a genuine full smile. "Stiles has friends who can help him and already have started. I will step in when needed."

Noah sighed, still not wanting to let the fact that Deaton bound his powers go. That was a stupid idea. If he had known then he never would have let the man do it. He knew Deaton felt guilty for Claudia and the Hale fire, but he never suspected it would drive him to this. Deaton can spout whatever excuses he wanted, but Noah would call bullshit on all of them. He would deal with that later though. Right now his focus was on his son, who had just woke his magic and who he hoped would trust his dad enough to open up to him. No more lying to protect him, yeah Noah knew exactly what Stiles was doing, he knew all too well. He hoped Stiles would come around and soon.

"Do you think he will do okay?" Noah asked his friend, both heading back inside to one of the lab rooms. Deaton sitting in the chair at a desk with a computer and a telescope. The man leaned back, clasping his hands in his lap.

"Stiles is unique. I can't explain why, or how I know, I can just feel it. We always knew he had potential and he has proven that time and again."

"Is he like Claudia," Noah asked with curiosity.

"No," he said with a small shake of his head. His brow furrowed as he thought about this. "She was a witch and a gifted one at that. Her Spark was bright and strong, but Stiles' Spark is brighter, stronger. In such a small amount of time, I could feel his magic surrounding him. Maybe it is because he is young and raw at it all, I don't know. What I do know is that he does not fit the typical characteristics I suspected he would."

Noah tried to fidget with that information. Stiles could understand what he meant about Deaton's cryptic answers. While he got some answers, Deaton always left him with more questions. "Is that a good or bad thing? Should we be worried?"

"I don't think so. That boy has surprised me on many occasions and I have no doubt he will continue to do so. But I promise that I'll keep on eye on him," Deaton said reassuringly, bring a clipboard of paperwork into his lap.

"Okay." Noah said quietly, his thoughts making him go quiet.

It didn't stop the man from worrying. He trusts Deaton, but even still he worried. He was a father for God's sake. It came with the territory. The fact that Stiles finally uncovered his magic was like a major weight off Noah's shoulder, but it now laid down a bigger weight. It made him feel guilty for lying to his son for all these years. After Claudia, he will admit he shut down. He avoided people, including his son. Stiles reminded him too much of his late wife and it killed him to know that she would not be here anymore. She would not be here to see their son grow up and become the man he is today. She wouldn't know he awoke his Spark, something she wished he would do. Noah knew that Claudia wished he learned about his magic at an early age, but it was not something they could force on him. It would be wrong to do so and he had to awaken his magic on his own.

It pained Noah, knowing that Stiles has gone so long, cutting his dad from that part of his life. But he couldn't hold it against him. Noah Stilinski was doing the same thing.

"You should talk to him. Tell him the truth." Deaton had said looking up at him from beneath his eyelashes.

Noah sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Easier said than done."

"You would be surprised what people can forgive," Deaton supplied with a small smile. "You and him are so much alike, I have no doubt he will understand?"

"If I'm being honest, I would prefer he never had to learn about all of this. He will always be in danger, but it does give me peace of mind that he is never _truly_ alone."

Deaton;s smile widened, "I have faith in him. Claudia did too," making Noah nod his head, a fond smile playing at his lips as his memories flashed through his head. Deaton handed the paperwork to the Sheriff for him to fill out. It was care and release papers for Luna since she was well enough to leave the clinic, Noah was going to have to find a way to keep her looked after while her wounds healed. Deaton continued, "If things were different, I have no doubt she would be teaching him as much as he could possibly contain."

"Yeah, if only."

 


	7. Practice to be Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally we get to juicy stuff. Or at least a good bit of it. Where does this leave our heroes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! Told you I would upload before the end of the weekend. This chapter looonng, juicy, and packed with all kinds of goodies. So enjoy. This was to get it all into motion so that we get down to the nitty gritty of what is to come. This is where we learn about what is in store for Stiles and the pack. Thank you all for your love and comments. I look forward to them every week. Hope you all enjoy this one. Now I'm going to go ice my fingers. Lol Stay tuned!

“What are you doing here?”

The strawberry blonde beauty regarded him with a purse of her lips and a cocked eyebrow. “Is that anyway to greet someone?”

”I must be out of practice,” Stiles quipped. 

She flipped her hair behind her shoulder, striding past them into the house. She eyed Danny as she walked past. Stiles saw his jaw clench before he looked back at him, his eyes concerned and slightly annoyed. 

Stiles and Danny followed her into the living room. She stood in the center of the room, her designer Coach bag of her shoulder. Green blouse crisp and clean, matching her eyes eyes and making them pop. The black skinny jeans and pumps rounding off the look. She looked like she was fresh off a GQ or Vogue magazine as always. She held a look of disappointment on her face mixing with concern when her eyes met Stiles.

”You weren’t at school the last two days.” She said, her hand on her hip like she was a parent about reprimanding a misbehaving kid.

Stiles swallowed before answering, not taking his gaze from Lydia’s. “I was busy.”

”Doing what,” she asked coolly.

Before Stiles could answer, Danny stepped in, sitting on the arm of his dad’s rocking chair. “Why are you here Lydia?”

She regarded Danny with a calculating look. Her green eyes narrowing. “I could ask you the same thing.”

"Danny is here for his own reasons along with mine," Stiles said, starting to get annoyed with all the back and forths. "Now, Lydia I must ask that you play nicely. But since you have never visited me or come to my house, I say that is grounds for me to ask the questions here."

Lydia's mouth opened like she wanted to say a retort back but then closed it again. She looked at Danny warily, but her eyes softened. She looked at the floor like it held the answers for her, but when she looked back up the expression was gone. "I actually need to talk to you." She then looked at Danny again, expectantly. "Privately, please."

Danny's eyebrows rose comically like he was offended. Stiles would have giggled, but then he thought over Lydia's words. This would be the first time he'd be alone with her since that night. What did she want? Why would she want to speak to him? He would have thought she was with Jackson, professing their love for one another and making sure he didn't eat any stray bunnies. Yet, here she was primly perfect, the queen she always was, standing in his living room, staring at him with her sharp green eyes and silently asking for him to talk with her. Aside from Danny, he hadn't seen anyone from school, and Stiles found that he was relieved about that up until this point.

When Stiles sighed heavily, he turned to Danny. "Give us a few moments, please," he asked.

He knew he didn't have to ask permission from Danny, but seeing as how Danny was on the fence about leaving him alone with Lydia, he could only guess why. He didn't want Danny upset with him or even with Lydia. The girl was his best friend too, apart from Jackson. So why was he acting like she was a lit fuse, waiting to blow?

Danny clenched his jaw, but nodded. He got up, brushing a hand over Stile's arm in a comforting gesture. Shockingly, it didn't make him jump this time. He supposed it was because it was coming head on this time. Either way it made him feel a little better. Danny headed out of the living room, heading upstairs. Stiles kept his eyes on Lydia, her eyes watching the two boys with interest although she tried to hide it.

When they were alone, Stiles spoke. "What do you really want Lydia?"

"What makes you think that I want something," she asked offended.

"Because we both know you wouldn't be here otherwise."

"That is not fair," she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "You cannot claim to know me so well after only a couple of weeks."

"But well enough to know you always have a motive for the things you do," Stiles said gently, almost quietly. This was true. She always had a reason. He had a feeling he already knew what her reasoning for being here was. Maybe it was his gut instinct or his brain telling him what he suspected. Or maybe it was his magic warning him of what was to come depending on the outcome of this meeting, he had no clue. Either way it made a weight settle in his gut and a shiver run up his spine.

Lydia's eyes went sad then. The green going a shade darker. "I came because Erica and Boyd are still missing. I'm sure you have heard about it."

Stiles just nodded. Of course this wasn't news to him. He had been working out ways to find them for days. He hadn't had the time to test out a few theories, but it didn't mean he forgot. Waiting for Lydia to continue, Stiles sorted through his mind, trying to think of the best places in the town limits, Erica and Boyd could be. Ever since Chris said he let them go, he had thought they'd turn up in the woods. Danny telling him that their trails ran cold worried him. Where were they now? Were they taken again? Were they hurt?

"I am here because the pack is running out of leads. We need your help."

And there is the million dollar statement folks. The pack needed  _his_  help. Oh how Stiles wondered if he was dead right now if he would be turning in his grave at the switch of events. Stiles almost felt a little smug, but mostly he felt insulted. Not to mention hurt.

"Do they?"

Lydia looked up at his hard tone. "Yeah," she said, beginning to look nervous, which was unusual for her. "We know tracking them is no good and their families don't care. We thought that maybe you would have some ideas. Or that you could use the Sheriff's system to find out if they were seen around town, any cars leaving town around the time of their disappearance, or something."

Stiles nodded. "You know it's funny how I am not pack and yet I get roped into all of this again."

Lydia's looked even more sad by that point. "Stiles, you are pack. You never stopped being pack."

"Really," Stiles chuckled. "I find that hard to believe. You do recall last Friday night right? The night I brought you to save Jackson, profess your love for each other, stop him from becoming a murdering lizard for the rest of his life, and somehow end up getting ridiculed and reproofed for my efforts despite everything I have done."

"Scott didn't mean any of that," Lydia said, stepping towards him confidently.

Stiles nodded. "Of course not. After all with it being 'his' pack and all, I'm sure it was all meant in loving banter. I'm sure Derek finds a kick out of it being Scott's pack."

"I just-"

Stiles waved a hand at her, cutting her off. "Save it Lydia. There is nothing you can say to discard the truth. I am not pack, plain and simple. Scott hasn't spoken a word to me since that night, frankly none of you have."

"You weren't at school," she said with a scowl.

"There's these little things called cell phones," he deadpanned. "Not to mention visiting, much like what you are doing now."

When Lydia didn't say anything, Stiles shook his head. He knew that a day like this would come. He didn't imagine it would feel so soon though. He was starting to get used to not being around the pack or having to do all their research for them. He was beginning to enjoy the down time, even though there wasn't that much of it, what with what happened last night with the wraiths and all. Even then, he expected to get into a routine. Yet here he was, being brought back into the fray. The pack or rather Derek's pack; technically group of teenagers and one creepy uncle, since he thought about Danny's previous points on the pack, were asking for his help again. Never mind what happened a few days ago.

Stiles had to wonder how Derek felt about all this. Asking the guy who 'betrayed' him for help. Stiles found it baffling how Derek was allowing Scott to help him. Since it was Scott who was working with Gerard. It was Scott who lied and manipulated them. It was Scott who practically handed Stiles over on silver platter for Gerard to use as a human punching bag. Somehow though, it sounded like Derek forgave Scott and it had only taken a couple of days and two missing betas to do it. Where did that leave Stiles?

Apparently that left him still on the out, because he was the mastermind behind Scott's temporary lapse in character.

Stiles had no idea was made him more upset, the fact that Scott got a reprieve or that Stiles was being asked for help by the very people who turned their backs on him, after everything he had to suffer through. Erica and Boyd though, weren't the others. They knew the truth. They were the only ones to see the devastation the hunters caused his body. They were the only ones who were with him through it all. Stiles didn't care if they were his only witnesses to tell the pack. He no longer cared what they thought of him now. Not after they sent Lydia to fetch for his help. No he cared if the betas were okay. He hadn't meant to abandon them when he was taken from the basement to be killed in the woods. He wasn't about to abandon them again. He had magic, as surreal as it was. So, maybe there was a way he could use that to help. Speaking of which, he had questions. A lot of questions.

"I will not help Scott or Derek," he said firmly, making her eyes go wide in shock. 

"What," Lydia said quickly. "You are being petty Stiles Stiliniski."

"Excuse me," he said, intrigued.

"You are unwilling to help find two of your missing friends because you are bitter about your current friendships right now. Life is unfair. Sometimes we have to work with the people we currently dislike in order to achieve something. We don't like it, but we make due," she ranted coldly. She folded her arms of her chest, her eyes hard. Her lips purse while she tapped her foot against the hardwood floor.

Stiles scoffed. Amazing how people think so little of him. "I never said I was unwilling. You presumed as much when you interrupted me," he said, watching her intense scowl falter. "I said I would not help Scott or Derek. I will be doing this on my own terms. I have not stopped looking for Erica and Boyd from the moment I found out they were missing. I just haven't had my nose to the forest dirt in the process."

Lydia stood silent. She was trying to control her emotions from showing on her face. Her perfect, popular mask dropping as Stiles glanced at anger, relief, happiness, shock, and sadness all pass over her face.

"I will look into other means of trying to find them along with researching potential hiding places around Beacon Hills that they could be at. I do not know if they have been taken and it is clear that neither do any of you. So right now, we have to assume as much along the fact they might be hiding out on their own. Anything I find, I will direct to you."

"Why not Scott," Lydia asked, a little baffled.

"Why didn't Scott ask me to do this himself," he countered, knowing she would either not have an answer or would know the answer and not want to upset Stiles further. Either way, it worked and she closed her mouth. "I will stay in contact with you, but that is it. I am out of the pack, these are my terms to help said pack."

Lydia looked like she was about to argue on that, but instead she closed her mouth, biting her bottom lip in the process. After a few moments of quiet between them, she spoke again. She was quiet in her tone. "I really did want to see you. After that night, I didn't know what to say to you. I didn't know what I could say. I am new to all of this, but I am catching on quickly."

"Hopefully you catch on quicker than I did," Stiles muttered, but it was loud enough for her to hear.

"Look, Stiles," she came closer, now only two feet apart. He could see her green eyes clearly now. Green, etched with with hints of hazel and flecks of yellow in their depths. Her red lips turned down in a frown and her perfect brows furrowed. "I meant it, I did want to see you. You were bruised and had cuts on your face. I was worried."

 _Worried enough to wait five days before talking to me,_  Stiles thought to himself. He really didn't want to have this conversation. He didn't want to be here right now. He had things he wanted to talk about with Danny. His mind was racing and he couldn't care less about the pack's flaws. "Well after I got spooked from the field after we won, I ran into a few players from the other school. Apparently badmouthing them was a mistake on my part."

Stiles didn't care that he just lied to Lydia. Lying was easy now. How could he explain the truth to her? She was just brought into all of this, mostly for Jackson and she is staying because of Jackson. She may be learning, but she doesn't know as much as Stiles. So how could he tell her? Stiles wasn't even able to tell Danny everything and he was there after it all happened. He was there to see the evidence with his own two eyes. He helped to clean those wounds before calling Deaton. What could Stiles say to Lydia that he couldn't bring himself to tell Danny?

So instead he lied. He lied through his teeth. Hell, the others already think that he ran off from the field after the his adoring fans came out and the lights went off. That provided the perfect excuse for him. Everyone else would believe it. Stiles Stilinski, the spastic, hyperactive, kid not too good with attention shies away from it.

"I don't believe that, Stiles," Lydia said, eyeing him up and down, shaking her head softly. "I do not believe you got those from a couple of pigheaded sore losers."

Stiles shrugged. "I'm fine Lydia. It's not like it is big deal."

"It is a big deal," Lydia said looking like she wanted to shake him.

"Look, Lydia, believe what you want. I'm fine. It was nice to see you, but right now Danny and I need to go pick up my jeep at the shop and I have to get back to finding Erica and Boyd." He said quickly, trying to brush off her concerns, making it seem like it wasn't a big deal even though she didn't know the half of it. She didn't even know any of it.

Lydia looked like she wanted to argue, instead she sighed a deep huff in exasperation. She moved around him, heading to the door, but before she reached it, she turned back to look at him. "Since when are you and Danny buddy-buddy?"

"We have always gotten on fine," Stiles said, arching his eyebrow. "Danny was the only one to help me that night. He got those guys off me and helped me get back home."

Lydia looked at him hard, squinting her eyes just the littlest bit like she was trying to see something better. "That was before you came to get me."

It wasn't a question, but Stiles nodded. 

"I never said thank you." She said, making him look at her in surprise. "For getting me to Jackson, for trusting me with...all of this," she said waving her hand to gesture between them and then around them. "Thank you, for seeing me better than I did."

Stiles gaped for a moment, silently staring at he strawberry bombshell before him. He swallowed before nodding to her. She surprised him again by stepping over to him quickly, wrapping her arms around his waist, giving him a hug. Stiles' arms were floundering for a moment, his mind racing as he tried to think of what to do. He had dreamed and wished for a moment like this with Lydia many times over. He had wanted this for so long, desired her to touch him and never let him go, while he clung to her back. It was a perfect picture to him. He had spent the better part of his school life infatuated with her. A few times he thought it was love, but he knew better now. 

It wasn't love, just wishful thinking on his part. He knew it would never happen, Lydia looking at him like she did with Jackson. That became clear when she professed her love for Jackson to help save his life. Obviously he felt the same. Stiles though, Stiles wasn't sure what he felt for the girl. He did still like her and thought she was still a brilliant strawberry goddess like always, but that wasn't love. It was never love. He accepted that, but it didn't mean he still didn't care for her. So that was how he found himself hugging her back, gently wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"Your welcome." He said quietly. 

They stayed that way for a few more heartbeats before they stepped away. Lydia smiled at him and Stiles returned it as best he could. It felt more like a grimace than anything, but it seemed to satisfy her. She gave little nod once before turning on her heel to let herself out, closing the door softly behind her. Stiles released a breath that he didn't know he was holding.

He gave it another few moments before heading upstairs, the quiet of the house making his steps sound louder. Upon entering his room, he found Danny lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He looked calm, the small shirt raised just a bit to show the skin of his abdomen, one leg flat on the mattress, the other hanging off bent at the knee. He didn't say anything as Stiles came further into the room. Stiles sat on the edge of his bed, his back against Danny's leg.

"She asked you to help the pack, didn't she?" Danny asked into the silence. He couldn't make out Danny's tone.

"Yeah," he said in a low voice, gazing at the Hawaiian teen beside him. 

Danny sighed heavily, closing his eyes. He looked like he was frustrated, silently venting to himself instead of to Stiles. "I can't believe, after everything, you are willing to help them with their problems. Again."

Stiles was not a stranger to how Danny felt about the pack. The boy was extremely disappointed with them. He was annoyed and angry with them, practically flirting with the pissed emotion too. Stiles supposed he couldn't blame Danny. However, it was Stiles who had been let down by the pack, kicked out and ignored till now. Stiles was upset, in fact he was pissed. There was no mistaking how much he hurt about his so-called friends letting him down. "I never said I was helping them."

"You shouldn't," Danny said, finally looking at him. 

The boy leaned up on his elbows looking like he wanted to say something but was afraid too. Or just couldn’t put it into words. 

“Look,” Danny began, “I know they are your friends. I know you care for them.”

”But?” Stiles asked after Danny didn’t continue. 

“But when will it stop? How long before the next time you get hurt? Till they hurt you again,” he stressed, his eyes worried.

“The hunters are dead, remember,” Stiles stated.

"I wasn’t referring to the hunters.” Danny said with an eye roll. 

“I know. I never said I was helping them. I am not doing this for them or to get back into their good graces or whatever the hell they want to tell themselves to better sleep at night,” Stiles said getting flustered the more he thought of the pack. 

“It sounds like you are,” Danny said rolling onto his side to better face Stiles. “You don’t have to help them with every problem they get themselves into.”

”And I won’t.” Stiles diss confidently. “They made their choice. I made mine. I am not helping them, but I am helping Erica and Boyd.”

”Why?”

Stikes swallowed around the lump in his throat. He looked at Danny, seeing the worry and curiosity in his dark eyes. He could tell Danny. He could tell Danny everything, everything that he was holding back. Danny only knew the gist of what happened. That he was tortured and the two betas were there to witness it with him. What he did not know is exactly what they had done, what Grant had done, nor at the house or the woods. Danny may take pity of him or may want to treat him tenderly, careful to not set him off or scare him, hurt him, but at least he cared. Danny has been there for him when no one else was, so he owed him something for that, right? 

“Because they were there.” He said averting his eyes from Danny’s although he felt the other boy tense beside him. “They were there with me and endured much of what I had to for nearly a day before I was taken.”

“Jesus,” Danny whispered.

"We were in the basement of the Argent house. No one else was home. The last time I saw them, I was being forced out of the basement, with their eyes on me the entire time. If I have the opportunity to see them again, see them in one piece and unharmed, then I will take it," he finished in a whisper. He could feel his throat close up and the burn of tears behind his eyes, but his voice stayed steady. He tried to keep the images of Gerard and Grant from his mind, but he was unsuccessful. Their faces, smirking and manic, staring at him in his mind. Gerard's knuckles against his face, the sting of Grant's blade followed by his lingering hands.

"Do the others know? Do they know that both of them were being held by Gerard," Danny asked gently.

Stiles shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. He turned, clasping his hand to the one on his shoulder. He saw Danny sitting up, his right hand on him while the left was held up, palm facing him. Stiles looked from the hand to Danny's face then to the hand holding onto his shoulder. He had to swallow a few times, trying to calm his racing heart.

The images of the basement and Gerard were still flashing through his head. The feeling of Grant's hands and lips on the back of his neck as he pushed a knife into his shoulder blade. It was like he was seeing his nightmares again. Reliving all of it, fresh as the night it happened. Only this time, he wasn't alone. He grasped onto Danny's hand, feeling the warm skin, the strong muscles moving under his touch as it squeezed his shoulder again, providing any sense of comfort possible. Stiles could feel the the phantom hands on his skin, making him break out into goose bumps with a shiver going up and down his spine. His heartbeat was pounding in his chest. He gripped Danny's hand tighter.

"Stiles, look at me," he heard. 

Stiles raised his eyes from the hand on his shoulder to the eyes was were staring at him. Dark brown eyes, almost black. There were nothing like Gerard's or Grant's. They held no malice, no twisted enjoyment, no threat, no lust. The hand that held him was not restricting or harmful, it was grounding and reassuring.

Stiles let out a deep breath, closing his eyes as he focused on the pressure Danny was using to steady him. Counting backwards from ten, Stiles slowly tried to calm his heartbeat, listening to Danny make quiet reassures to him, telling him that it was okay. That he was home. That he was fine. When he opened his eyes again, Danny's worried ones were still focused on him, his hand never moving from his shoulder. 

Danny gave a small smile, silently asking him if he was alright. In acknowledgement, Stiles took one more deep breath, letting it rush out before he nodded his head.

"Thanks," Stiles muttered.

Danny brushed it away with a wave of his hand. The two boys passed some time, sitting in silence. Stiles relished in the silence. Letting it calm his nerves after the past memories. He breathed deeply, letting the scent of his room fill his nostrils. The smell of his clothes, burning spice and vanilla wafting through the air. He could also smell Danny next to him. He smelled of dirt with a soft scent of cologne. He listened to the creaking of his house and the daytime sounds outside. The open window providing fresh air with a warm gentle breeze. When he felt calm enough, he thought over what Lydia had told him.

Erica and Boyd were missing and he needed to find them. He wanted them to be okay. His conversation with Lydia was enlightening, tell him that the pack had very little options. But, his conversation also gave him an idea.

"Hey, Danny," he asked, looking at the boy a little unsure. When the other boy looked at him, Stiles asked, "You say that I have magic, that I can do...things."

When Danny nodded, Stiles continued. "And you're able to do the same?"

"I can," Danny said calmly. 

"Are you a druid too, like Deaton," Stiles asked, eyeing him up and down, like he could evidence of it.

Danny shook his head. "I am witch."

"So...not a druid?" Stiles asked, mot getting the difference _. Damn why had he not read the bestiary._

Danny laughed. "There are more than just druids as magic users. I'm a witch, a Hedge witch to be exact."

"And that is?"

"Where are you going with this, Stiles? What are you thinking?" Danny had asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing.

"Is there a way to track people, magically, I mean?" Stiles had to ask and Danny would know why. He temporarily dropped the subject, noting to pick it up again later. He wanted to help find Erica and Boyd, he wanted to help the others find them. If it was possible the 'how' was for him and Danny to know. As long as they were able to locate them first, they would then worry about if they were okay.

Danny seemed to consider this for a moment after a brief moment of surprised confusion, his brows furrowed for as he thought over what he knew. When he answered, his tone was unsure, but encouraging. "There are certain methods to find people, much like a supernatural lo-jack. However, the most effective methods are when the two people share a very strong bond. Another method is when the spell is used with that person's blood."

"I don't have either of those," Stiles admitted bitterly, not thinking about the blood factor.

"Like I said there are other methods, some not as strong. There is the use of one of their possessions, something that belongs to them. Something like that can be used to help locate them. It is not as powerful though."

"Why?"

"It depends on a variety of factors. One being the strength of the caster," Danny said, running his hands through his hair, looking at the floor. "Another would be the item of choice not having a great sentimental value to said person or never being originally theirs to begin with. Even if you do find something of theirs that of great value to them, most of the time it narrows it down to an area of where they would be, not their full location."

"So, even if we would do this, there is no guarantee we will find them," Stiles said leaning back against his bed.

Danny shook his head. "No, we can still narrow down the area. Even if they are still here in Beacon Hills, we would be able to find out for certain."

Stiles nodded, more to himself than Danny. Having decided he would already do this, he looked at Danny a small smile on his face. Coming to terms with the fact he had magic was going to be a challenge, especially with how surreal it was, but he would try. If he could help find Erica and Boyd this way, using his newly awakened magic, then he would do it. "Alright, show me how we do this."

Danny's eyebrows rose. His mouth opening before closing, only to open again. "You-you want to learn magic?"

Stiles nodded. "I think it's time I did something good with it."

Danny smiled, his eyes bright as they lit up his face. He pulled himself up and sat in front of Stiles, crossing his legs. Stiles did the same opposite him on the bed, getting comfortable because they were in for the long haul. 

"Wait," Danny said, his hand up, making Stiles stop. "Don't we need to get your jeep?"

Stiles laughed, having forgotten to get his jeep from where he parked near the Sheriff's station the day before. Nodding his head, they got up to head out, putting Stiles' new studies on hold.

 

*** * * * * * ***

So that is how the days passed. Stiles and Danny practiced with his magic, trying to get him used to the feeling of it. The more he practiced the better he got at understanding how it felt within his body. It turned out it felt like a warmth, a little fire inside him, warming his chest and then expanding to encompass his arms and legs as he worked with it.

At first it was like a flicker, hard for him to grasp onto. Danny had to explain how he saw his own magic, like a tree growing from a sapling up higher and higher the more magic he used. It was a good analogy, but to Stiles, his was like a flame getting bigger and bigger the more he practiced. The more he worked to understand the feel of it, the better it became to grasp it. It took a few tries, extending a couple hours before he managed to do something and that was just making a small pencil eraser roll just a little. When he accomplished that he got so excited he felt like he was on cloud nine. He thought the hardest part was over, making the first step, feeling his magic work for the first time-or at least consciously now that he knew what to look for. Yeah he was so wrong.

He didn’t realize how hard it was going to be. He should have known better. He was a novice magic user, trying to learn so much at once to help Danny with tracking Erica and Boyd. It may have been his idea, but Danny was happy to go along with it and help him. He did not know who was more foolish, himself or Danny. 

He couldn’t count how many times he got frustrated but or annoyed when nothing would happen. He would not feel the warmth in his chest, he wouldn’t feel his intentions go beyond the norm and make something happen. He would stare at the eraser for long periods of time before throwing up hid hands and cursing to himself. Yet, Danny through it all, said nothing but encouraging words. He told him it was okay and that it would take time. 

Yet time was something they didn’t have. 

He may have moved the eraser the one time, but it meant nothing when the second time he tried it, the eraser stayed out like it was being weighted down. It was almost a week into the practice that he finally got a better grasp on his magic. 

They would practice for hours whether at his house or Danny’s. No one bothering them, so it was easy to sit on the floor, barely moving from their spots as Stiles worked to control his magic. His dad was often at his When Stiles was alone he would practice some more. Doing anything he could to reach for his magic, feel it inside him and hold onto it, hoping it would allow him to direct it. 

When he was able to move the eraser again, this time when he was alone, he understood he feeling. The rising spread of the warmth through his body. He felt it move inside him, gently nudging under his skin. He concentrated on that feeling, hoping that it would cause him to do it again, the excitement, anticipation, and joy circling around his head. That was when the eraser flew across the room. 

He immediately called Danny and told him all of it. The next day, he showed it again to Danny, his emotions leaping for happiness at what he discovered, doing all of it again, this time though, all the erasers in the room went to the other side of the room; even the ones sti attacked to the pencils. 

They sat in silence for a moment, looking at the small pile of erasers and pencils that were all from his desk or the floor. Danny looked at Stiles’ confused and agape face, with a mixture of surprise and pride.

"I didn’t-" Stikes began.

"Yes, you did,” Danny said cutting him off a big grin on his face. 

“But I just wanted to...”

"Move the eraser,” Danny had finished.

At Stiles nod, Danny asked him a question that he didn’t expect. “What were you feeling, when you focusing your magic?”

Stiles explained his emotions and then told him the same thing about what happened the night before. Danny nodding his head in thought for a moment while he listened. When Stiles finished, his eyes gleamed. 

“So that’s it.” Danny said almost to himself.

"What do you mean,” Stiles said in shock. Fearing that he did something wrong. “What did I do?”

Danny shook his head. “You didn’t do anything, but you did just uncover a bit about how your magic responds to you.”

“How?”

”You magic is controlled by your emotions,” Danny said with a smile. “It isn’t anything bad, in fact it is a good thing in some ways. The more you feel the more energy you release, meaning the more you magic responds.”

”So this,” Stiles gestured towards the erasers, “was because of my excitement?”

“Excitement, happiness, desire, it doesn’t matter. They are all powerful emotions and your magic responded.” Danny said with a nod. “But it can also prove to be difficult. It means that you will have to work to keep yourself in check, your magic will need to be controlled by you so that it doesn’t run rampant based on your emotions.” 

“So it means I need to stay calm,” Stiles said. When Danny nodded his affirmative Stiles did the same. “Right I can do that. Calm and collected. Cool like a cucumber.”

Danny snorted.

The next days passed much the same. Stiles practiced with his magic, using his emotions to test out different reactions. Danny taught his some spells, easy ones, but no less difficult for a newbie. However to his surprise, he picked them up in less than a day. Danny was impressed, but had him continue until he wasn't breathing heavily or having to concentrate for too long. The more he understood unlocking his magic, the more he came to want to find out more about _how_ it worked.

It wasn’t until he was practicing with Chris Argent one morning that things took a little twist. He had been going to the Argent house almost every day. After missing his second training session after the wraith attack, he made a note to not do that again. It wasn't because he wanted to avoid annoying Chris or making him mad, that he didn't care about, it was because he didn't want to give up on his training. Stiles was passing his days training his body and his magic and he found it was easy to pass the time doing either.

When he arrived at the house, Chris had taken one look at him, before asking if everything was okay. When Stiles nodded, he said that he had a few things to do the day before and left it at that. Chris seemed like he wasn't really buying it, but he said nothing further. His training sessions passed with him on the punching bag and going through drills. He was doing a little cardio and strength training, something he was moaning and groaning about, but relented to it in the end. 

Chris' explanations for it were to help him train his body, helping him get stronger as well as providing his body the ability to control his breathing the more stressed or worked he was. Stiles had to admit that he wasn't happy at first, but he was slowly starting to like it.  _Slowly._

Chris kept him on the bag, learning different punches and techniques on how to position his body and move when needed. Each day consisted of him learning endurance, strengthening his body, and going through the motions of cardio. He left each morning sweating and tired. His muscles were screaming at him most of the time, burning under his skin, but it wasn't like his magic. It wasn't a nice burn, uncomfortable and slightly painful. But Stiles had been through worse, by far. He found he actually liked it. It was satisfying in a way, making him feel like he accomplished something, even if it was something small.

During the sessions, Chris wouldn't really talk to him, but would dish out comments and pointers here and there. At first he barely said much at all, just giving directions and that was it. After the first couple of sessions, Chris started to open up a bit, saying more than a few words at a time and offering praise and constructive criticism where he saw fit. Stiles even thought he saw the hint of smile on the hunter's face a few points, but it was gone before he could do a double take. 

He thought he was doing good, all things considered. He was still new to this, so he didn't expect to be the badass in an action movie. So imagine his surprise when Chris came up to him, telling him to stop, putting on a pair of gloves himself.

"I think it is time you learn how to spar," Chris said plainly.

Stiles was too stunned to form a sentence so he just stared, watching as Chris fastened the last glove. It wasn't until Chris stepped forward, did Stiles step back, his eyes going wide. He didn't miss the surprised look flashing through the hunter's eyes, followed by worry and sadness. Chris held up a hand, gently warding off Stiles' fears. 

"I know you may not want to do this," Chris said slowly. "I won't force you, this is entirely up to you. But training means nothing if you do not put it to use."

Logically Stiles knew this was true. He knew that Chris had a major point. After all, training was meant as a way of trial and error, without having to really worry about potential deadly consequences. What good was training if Stiles never intended to put it into effect?  He had to practice to be better. Stiles was wary though. It was not an apprehension to the training itself nor putting what he has learned into an actual moving target, it was more internal than that. It was the rising unease that he would not be sparring with Chris. He was afraid it would be someone else.

He was not keen on Chris touching him. He knew Chris wouldn't hurt him. The man was not his father, but he has been at the mercy of hunter's before and he didn't want to seem weak, even to his reluctant teacher.

Stiles nodded his head to Chris who gave a nod in return. Chris motioned for Stiles to stand in the center of the lawn, both facing one another a few feet apart. Chris motioned for Stiles to raise his arms, protectively covering his face like he normally does while boxing with the bag. 

"Alright, you will do the punching, I will attempt to block them, understand," Chris asked, as Stiles nodded his head slowly. "This is not to see how many blows you can land, this is to get you to takes the skills you have learned and put them into practice. This is where you learn to fight."

Stiles nodded again, holding his hands up to his face, keeping his breathing controlled even thought his heart was pounding in his chest. At Chris' signal of start, Stiles moved forward, throwing the first punch, which was weak by all standards. When Chris swatted his arm away, he looked at him with a cantankerous look and raised an eyebrow. Stiles felt his face redden, but tried to ignore it. He didn't want to hurt Chris, even if this was his idea. Stiles knew he probably couldn't hurt the man, but it still made his stomach knot at the idea of hurting him when he was trying to help him.

"Really," Chris asked, his tone sharp. "What was that? You are not training to get squeamish now."

"Sorry." Stiles said, his eyes down. "I'm just not-."

"Not ready." Chris said, making it into an answer instead of a question. "Stiles, you will never be ready."

Stiles eyes went wide as he looked at the man. His heart was beating hard and he felt a small tinge of fear in his gut, making the knot tighten. Was Chris giving up on him? Chris shook his head, lowering his body in a more balanced stance, his right side pointed towards Stiles. Chris sighed heavily, looking at the teen before him. 

"You will never be ready for a fight," he said gravely. "You can only be prepared for when it does come. That is your biggest lesson for today."

Understanding, Stiles straightened his shoulders, before giving them a roll. He licked his lips before re-positioning himself. Once Chris gave him the go ahead, he punched. This time with more strength and precision. He didn't connect with Chris, but he did connect with the man's arm, blocking the punch from his face. It surprised Stiles and also excited him. Chris moved so fast he didn't realize it. The movement was fluid and effortless. He wondered if he would be able to do that. 

Hiding a smile, Stiles punched again, this time with his left fist, aiming for the side of Chris' head. He dodged it, this time just moving his body to the side a little. Stiles continued, throwing punches left and right, never once connecting. He either missed completely as Chris side-stepped or ducked away. Chris would also block his advances, waving his fists away or holding up his arms to hold off a potential blow to the head. The more Stiles tried, the braver he became. He started to move, stepping forward or sideways, trying to throw Chris off. Maintaining his balance and his breathing, Stiles jabbed and his long punches, he kept going. Sometimes he got close to hitting the man, but with these, Chris would evade instead of blocking. 

As time passed, Stiles became annoyed, slowly going towards angry. Never once did he manage to land a hit and it was making his confidence falter but pushing him to do more, try more. He kept his punches going, stepping to the side, then forward before stepping back then to the other side. He tried anything to throw off Chris' defense. He got frustrated enough that Chris noticed.

"Concentrate," he simply said.

Stiles huffed out a breath. "I am. You keep moving too fast."

Chris chuckled behind his upraised hands. "Do you think it will be this fair out there?"

"No." Stiles jabbed again, a quick succession of three punches, the first two being blocked with Chris dodging the last one. "This isn't helping."

The older man's eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "Isn't it?"

"Your toying with me," Stiles spat, his anger coming out. "Instead of teaching me, you are letting me make a fool of myself."

Chris blocked his last punch, his blue eyes seeming to fall into shadow. "Is that what you think I am doing?"

"What else I am going to think?"

With that, Chris took the arm he blocked, quickly wrapping a strong hand around Stile's forearm to pull him forward, twisting his arm around to wrap around his front. Stiles was too stunned to react before Chris sweeped out his legs from under him, making him fall front first into the grass. His face hit the ground, the cool grass felt nice on his skin, but not when it came at him like he was the one to get punched. His cheek collided with the grass but would nothing more than a slight bruise. The arm that was wrapped around his gut was pinned under his weight while his other was flailing beside him. He felt weight on his back, holding him down. 

The air was knocked out of him, the anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. From his up close view of the dirt and grass beneath him, he felt the warmth of Chris over top of him. He tried to see the hunter behind him, but Chris was holding him still, first with is arms over his back, before Stiles felt even more pressure on his body. He craned his neck, barely able to see the man pinning him with his knees and arm. Stiles' previous annoyance got replaced quickly.

In fact Stiles started to feel fear. Chris was nearly sitting on top if him. A knee on his lower back and his right arm over his shoulder blades. His other hand was braced on the ground and Stiles could feel the man breathing above him. He knew Chris wasn't doing anything wrong, wasn't hurting him, but his mind wasn't listening to any reason. All he felt was pressure on his body. On his lower back, near his hips, over his shoulders, a weight pushing him into the ground. It was such reminder of Grant that Stiles' breathing quicken and his heart kicked into overdrive.

"Get off," Stiles said breathlessly.

Chris shook his head from his peripherals. "No," he said making Stiles' heart sound louder in his ears. His blood ran cold and his hands shook under him. "Lesson number two, think of a way out of this. Use your body as leverage or even your opponent's."

Stiles couldn't think beyond what he felt. It made him want to crawl further into the dirt to get away from it. He hated feeling that way, but he couldn't help it. His mind raced through that night. The woods, the forest floor digging into his exposed skin. Grant on top of him, laughing as he touched him, as he threatened him. The other hunters watching with equal glee. He could feel those ghostly hands on his body, the pressure of the man's body against his own, the hot breath on his neck as Grant leaned in low, pressing even further onto him. It was all he saw and felt at the moment. There was no Chris, no training, no Argent house. There was the dark woods and gruesome situation he remembered, the one that vividly presented in his nightmares.

"Get off," Stiles said more firmly, breaths coming in pants.

"No," Chris repeated, not aware of Stiles' panic. "I have all morning for you to think of a way."

Stiles was on the verge of a panic attack. He could feel the icy tendrils in the back of his mind, creeping closer. His breathing was becoming more shallow and his vision was going white and blurry. He was surprised Chris hadn't felt his heart hammering beneath him, surely he must feel that. It was all Stiles could feel of his body. The weight of the older man like a driving force, pushing his heart faster with each passing second. The panic was rising, churning in his chest, ready to burst. He felt his magic along with it. Ready to act as the warmth expanded and burned it's way over his body. It was like it was trying to offer comfort, but the more panicky he felt, the more it spread and hotter it felt inside him. He couldn't let his magic out. If it responded to his emotions, he feared what it would do. He feared what he would do to Chris.

"Get off! Let go!"

Chris immediately moved away, Stiles pulling himself up to a near sitting position, but crawling backwards away from Chris till he hit the outside of the house. He was leaning against the wall, next to the large French doors. Chris a few feet away, staring at him with too many emotions Stiles couldn't care to decipher right now. He was trying to get his breathing under control, his heart to slow down. He still felt the edges of his panic attack. He had to put his head between his legs, taking deep, ragged breaths. Clenching his hands together into a tight fist, he focused on his breathing, calming himself down as best he could. 

His magic was burning inside him, like a fire waiting to be released at his say or if absolutely needed. It made Stiles think of his magic as a sort on consciousness. How it reacts to his emotions as well as his commands, at least at times. He was still learning and still finding it difficult to focus his magic to do what he wanted. But he was better, by far better. Now that understood how his magic worked, it responded quicker and more easily. Which means he couldn't let it out now. Not like this and definitely not in front of Chris.

He didn't want to hurt Chris, but he also didn't want the man to know he had magic. The man may be teaching him, but Stiles didn't trust him. He didn't trust him to keep Stiles' secret even if Stiles willingly did tell him. The man was a hunter, dealt with who knows how many supernatural creatures. It was his life's work. Everything he was trained in for most of his life. Trained by Gerard of all people. So no, Stiles did not trust him.

"I'm sorry," Stiles said between breaths. Those words were becoming a part of his regular vocabulary, but he couldn't help it. He didn't want to look up. Chris may know what happened to him, may know how much of a psycho his father was, but it didn't mean Stiles wanted to see the pity in the man's eyes. 

"Why are you here Stiles," the man asked.

Stiles looked up then. He didn't see pity in Chris' eyes, instead he saw worry mixed with concern and curiousness. He thought he might see anger in his features too, but he couldn't understand why. Why would Chris be angry with him? Was it because of his near panic attack, the way he reacted to Chris' surprise tactic? Stiles knew he wasn't the first choice for someone to train, but come on, he was trying. You can't erase everything that was done to him in a couple of weeks and think everything is okay. It doesn't work that way.

"What are you talking about," Stiles asked now defensive.

 The man release a harsh breath. "Why are you here? Why are you doing this?"

Stiles shrugged getting up from the ground, bracing himself on the house as he leaned against it. He was trying to hide his shaking hands behind his back. "I want to be able to help the pack." 

That wasn't technically false. Stiles did want that. That was if he had a pack at all. Chris didn't know that he was kicked out. He didn't know that Derek wants nothing to do with him and Scott was avoiding him, aside from the one text message he got from him asking him if he wanted to go see a movie with him and Isaac. Stiles never replied and he had no intention to. Scott made his choice and now Stiles was too. Scott hadn't wanted anything to do with him for over two weeks, not one word from him other than a "hey" the previous week, which also went unanswered. Stiles had no idea when he lost Scott, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was before that night when Scott chose to work with Gerard instead of coming to help his best friend.

Even when he was part of the pack, he didn't feel part of it. If he was being honest, he didn't think he was ever part of the pack. It was Derek's pack to begin with and the man barely tolerated him. He only seemed to care because of Scott. Scott as a werewolf took more priority over Stiles, meaning Derek looked after Scott first. Yet Scott fought Derek on his Alpha status. Stiles knew Scott didn't want to remain a werewolf and he was still bitter towards Derek for killing Peter in revenge for his sister. Stiles couldn't blame Derek for that. Like Scott, Stiles didn't make it easy on Derek either. He supposed he had himself to blame for that. 

But he actually believed after Derek protected him a few times, after the pool and all, Stiles genuinely thought Derek was beginning to see him as more than just...Scott's annoying human friend.

"And yet you choose now to be of use, after all this time?" Chris said, as if Stiles hadn't gotten lost for a moment in his own mind.

_Ow, that stung._

"What better time, if not the present," he said sarcasm dripping from his voice. He was getting mad again. If Chris wanted to judge him, he can do it alone. Stiles had had enough of that. He had enough of that from school, his used to be friends, and he definitely didn't need that from Beacon Hill's local hunter.

"That is an excuse."

"Still the truth," Stiles said through gritted teeth.

"No it isn't." Chris shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest, his jaw set. "You are dodging with part of the truth. I can spot a lie almost as easily as a werewolf. I've been trained too."

"Congratulations," Stiles spat. "This is my choice. I am doing this for me."

Chris shrugged, not letting this go. "Why? You ask me, a hunter, one you don't trust, one your pack doesn't trust. You ask me to keep it a secret. You came to the son of a man who nearly killed you, which I assume no one knows about, so tell me why?

Stiles said nothing. His anger boiling. He felt warmth inside him again. Growing to extend past his chest, encompassing every part of him. He could feel his face heating up. His panic induced shaking has stopped, now replaced with other emotions. He vaguely was aware of his magic itching to surface again, trying to make itself known, ready to respond to his emotional command. His anger, hurt, and guilt mixing together to fuel his Spark. Those emotions weren't on Chris' behalf though. They were on his own.

It all came down to what he felt for himself.

"Why, Stiles," Chris asked forcefully.

"Because your family did this to me!” 

As his voice bounced off the Preserve treeline behind the fenced in yard, a loud pop echoed with it. Stiles saw weird shimmer in the air behind Chris' shoulder. At his look, the man turned to see the punching bag on fire. Dead center where Stiles had been punching earlier, flames sprouted, licking their way down towards the ground and up towards the sky. Bright yellow and orange, similar lighting of the morning sun as it rose higher. The The fabric of the bag turning brown and black as the fire withered it away.

“What the hell,” Chris said, running to get  the outside hose, turning the faucet and spraying the bag in an attempt to douse the flames. 

Stiles looked on in astonishment. Feeling his anger subside a bit, replaced by the slight fear and surprise at what happened. He didn’t have to think about how it happened. He already knew. 

He did it. He lit the bag on fire. 

He could feel his magic, burning underneath, moving like someone was taking a hot cloth under the skin. It spread out from his chest, feeling his emotions. He tried to take deep breath,s unbeknownst to Chris who was busy putting out the punching bag. In and out, he reigned in his anger and fear. If he was counting backwards from ten with each big breath he took, then sue him, it was helping. He pictured anything that would calm him down. His home, his bedroom, his dad and mom, even Danny.

Wait, Danny? That was different.

Either way it was working. Focusing on his breathing, he felt his heart slow in his chest. He calmed to a distant anger, one that subsided to be resolved under the surface. When Chris had finished putting out the fire, he was circling the watering hose back up, stuffing it around the faucet that sat next to the house. Unwrapping his gloves, the man came back over to the Stiles, his eyes on the bag like it was something Chris had never seen before. When the man looked back at him, Stiles faked surprise and fear, eyeing the bag like it might burst into flames again. He couldn't let Chris know the truth. So he played innocent.

"What was that," he asked, trying to sound wary.

He apparently succeeded because Chris shook his head, looking back at the bag before returning to Stiles. "I am not sure."

Shuffling from one foot to the next, Stiles unwrapped his gloves, tossing them to the ground. He needed to leave, like minutes ago he needed to leave. He's obviously over-stayed his welcome. He moved away from the house, before bending to pick up the water bottle he brought before turning back to Chris. "I need to go," he said plainly.

"Stiles," Chris began, turning towards him. The man looked older than he was. The stress of the years showing on his face, this situation adding to it. "You're right."

Stiles felt stopped in his tracks as he was moving towards the door. Slowly, he turned towards the hunter. He tried to not show his emotions, he's done enough of that today. Instead he remained impassive. He still felt his magic providing a sense of comfort so he took that. Otherwise he was afraid of breaking down. All the anger, grief, hurt, and guilt was bound to get out somehow, and he wanted to control when. His nightmares were getting worse every week and lately the tears he woke up with were not enough to deal with them. Stiles was more than sad or guilt stricken. He was pissed and he had didn't know what to do about it.

"What," he asked the man.

"You're right," Chris said gently, his eyes sad. "It is my family who are to blame."

Stiles didn't say anything. He didn't trust his mouth in this situation.

"I am sorry for earlier. I crossed a line. It was not werewolves or any other creature that did that...to you.” He said with a far away voice. The man looked like he was struggling to find words, clenching and unclenching his jaw, swallowing hard like he was preventing himself from vomiting. “I cannot take back what was done, but maybe, I can help give you a way to never let it happen again."

At that, it was Stiles' turn to swallow the large lump in his throat. He didn't know what to think of Chris' proclamations or his confession. So he said the only thing that would put this conversation to bed quickly, "Okay."

Turning to leave again, he made to the open door of the house, about to go inside to head out the front door when Chris stopped him again. "Stiles," he called, making the teen look over his shoulder at him. "Whatever your reasoning for doing this," he began, "don't let it be for your fears. Don't let them rule you that way, or else they always win."

Stiles knew what he meant. Face your fears. That was a saying he's heard before and had tried to become familiar with. He tried to do that a long time ago, back when his mom got sick. Back when she was dying. His fears of his mother's death, of not being good enough, smart enough to help her, of not being there for his dad, all were what haunted him back then. For months he was plagued with those thoughts, those doubts. He never really got over them, but he did learn to face them. Of course, he had his dad to help with that. He also had Scott too. They helped chase away those fears, reassure him, make him face the truth no matter what his insecurities were telling him. 

Not this time though.

They weren't there for him this time. He didn't want his dad involved in all of this because it was safer for him. And Scott, well his former best friend, didn't seem to want to be involved in it. So who was left. Danny? Could he go to his new friend with his troubles? Danny already knew the truth of what all happened, so it made it easier. But could he burden Danny with the weight of what Stiles felt and dreamed on a daily basis? 

Stiles was not sure about that. Nor did he fancy it. He liked Danny and as much as the other boy has helped him the past few weeks, Stiles was still sore about Scott. He felt like if he slipped up once or it became too much for Danny then he would find himself alone again. He didn't know what he would do then. 

Stiles had a lot to think about. On the one hand, he knew Chris was right. He couldn't let his fear of Gerard and Grant, the hunters, rule him. If he did, they were always haunt him, they would always win. On the other, it did nothing to prevent the nightmares. His subconscious telling him what he refused to think about while he was awake. Stiles had to figure this out on his own. Like everything else, he had to use his own smarts, his own resources. If he couldn't do that, then he would...endure. He's done plenty of that, so why break the streak now.

With nothing left to say, Stiles gave a nod before heading into the house, briskly walking across the long hall, into the foyer, before letting himself out of the extravagant house. He broke into a run, heading for his jeep down the street. Each step feeling heavy, each breath feeling short, yet bringing him closer to what he considered a piece of home, sometimes the _only_ piece.

 *** * * * * * ***  

 

Derek didn’t like how uncertain things have become. To be honest, nothing had been certain for a long time, but at least when he formed his pack he thought he knew where everything was headed. He was wrong. 

As he made his way out of the woods back to his old house, he looked at the remnants of his pack. Jackson was walking a few steps ahead, covered in dirt and bits of dead leaves and grass. Isaac fared no better. Peter was going to be waiting at the house waiting with Lydia after they all met in the middle of the Preserve, much to Lydia's dismay. To Derek’s surprise the girl seemed to be taking all of them like a fish to water.

He had to give her props. She bounced back for being a superficial prom queen. Or at least that’s what Derek used to think of her when he first met her. He was wrong then too. 

It seemed to be a recurring thing anymore. He hated that. He hated that he had been wrong on so many things. His decisions and misconceptions had cost him a lot in his life and they still do. 

Derek regretted much, but he had to focus on the present. He had to put his pack first.

They were coming back from training in the Preserve. Derek put Jackson and Isaac through drills, testing their reflexes, their control before having them spar with each other. He was testing their reaction times, their pursuit in their attacks, while measuring their aggression. He had to make sure they were stable in a fight. He also had to gage how well they would do in said fight. 

Jackson was a new werewolf and therefore needed the most training, but Isaac still had need of it as well. Jackson still lacked control, often getting angry or sloppy in his movements. It led to him losing control over his wolf, lashing out instead of thinking it through. He was arrogant and all around jackass, but it made Derek think about what was under the surface. What did Lydia see in him?

Isaac was different. He learned control, thanks for being a werewolf longer, but it was a matter of learning when to let his instincts go that was a problem. Due to his past, Isaac was not good on being him, nor was he good at fighting back no matter how warranted it was. Derek had seen a change in the boy. He was less timid but he was also more defensive. More standoff-ish when it came to listening to what he should be doing. Derek supposed Scott was running off on him too much. Isaac was reluctant to come to training in between their long hours of looking for Erica and Boyd. But he did so out of respect for Derek as his Alpha.

Scott, he hadn’t seen him since that night either. He’s heard things here and there from Isaac. Apparently the boy was trying to patch things up with Allison along with his mom since she found out about him. It was not easy. Allison still had issues to work out about her family and herself. She has not been seen around much, but Lydia has stated in seeing her almost everyday, often the other girl spending night with her, getting away from her home. 

As for Stiles, he heard nothing. For weeks he hasn’t heard anything from the human boy, nothing from around town or from word of mouth from his friends. He hasn’t talked to Scott since that night, but Derek heard more about him than Stiles. 

Derek couldn’t help the small part of him that felt worried about it, but otherwise he didn’t care. He decided not to care. After what Stiles has done, he couldn’t care less if Stiles was a stranger on the street now. Someone who was just anyone. He remembered that Friday night like a nightmare. Much like his other nightmares only this time it wasn’t of his family, but of Gerard, then twisting to Stiles. 

Some nights he would see Stiles standing beside Gerard, a smug smile on his face. His amber eyes cold and cutting. Holding a knife in his hand looking like he was ready to stab Derek in th whack with it. It was nights like that he woke up in a cold sweat, batting away the images of Stiles like they offended him. Like they should offend him.

But other nights...he saw something else. He saw Stiles face contorted in hurt and pain. The boy clutched at his own arms as they wrapped around himself, either from cold or for comfort he didn’t know. His mouth agape in a silent ‘O’ and his eyes wide. The whiskey orbs pain filled, grief stricken and...broken. 

Derek saw that before. Once back when he was young and his family was alive. Back when Stiles mother had just died. Yeah, he knew him then. Or he knew of him. 

He remembered a flash of that on Friday. Or maybe he thought he did. He couldn’t be sure he was so angry. It was night like that, where he saw those eyes he woke up breathing heavily, his heart beating in his chest, and his gut clenching painfully. It was nights like that his wolf would not settle. 

In fact his wolf whined a lot inside him lately. Always seeming to pace and never stay still. He didn’t know why, but it seemed to happen every time Stiles was a brought up subject. He didn’t know how to feel about it. He was pissed at the boy, hurt and feeling betrayed. Yet partially. 

Another part of him felt hollow. It felt like a weight settled in his stomach, warping it and twisting it till it was uncomfortable, and then when he would run in the Preserve around the territory line or workout anything to burn off energy, he would feel empty inside. Like he burned the weight away leaving a hole.

He didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand how to feel. So instead he pushed those feelings aside and focused on what was in front of him. Focused on his remaining pack and finding Erica and Boyd. 

They had searched for days, weeks now. No luck on any lead. Lydia said she had a contact at the Sheriff's station, one who owed her a favor, looking into any reports of the two around surrounding towns, any leads of stolen cars heading from town. Derek was surprised, but didn't question it. He was happy to at least have another manner of trying to find them. He had Deaton call his contacts in the supernatural community, asking for help in trying to locate them if they turned up. Peter did the same with his contacts, even though he wondered how his uncle had any to begin with since he had been in a pain induced coma for 6 years. Derek, Jackson, Isaac, and sometimes Peter would scout around the town and Preserve territory, trying to pick up their scents, hoping that by some chance they would find them. 

They had very little to go on and had even worse luck in their endeavors. Still, they kept trying. Isaac even said he had Scott helping. Keeping an eye around town, asking his mom if anyone had been brought into the hospital over the weeks that had strange injuries, just in case. Even if the woman was still coming to terms with her son being a werewolf, she seemed to still want to help him. Derek was grateful for that. He was grateful for everyone's help. He wanted to find his beta's. He wanted to make sure they were okay. He wanted the chance to make it right to them. If he got that, he would be happy. Or well less scowly. 

They trudged their way back towards the Hale house. The dark, burned exterior of his once childhood home coming into view through the trees. Burnt beyond salvageable, the old house looked like it would fall apart after a good storm. After coming back from New York, Derek didn't want to return to his old home, but found it was the last place Laura was. Since her death, he didn't want to leave it. The abandoned train station was the only place he could sleep in properly, after Kate Argent managed to sneak up on him, he didn't want to risk being caught off guard again. Also it wasn't like he could have any of his pack inside the house. It was likely to cave in on them if they breathe the wrong way. In a way, Derek didn't want his pack inside the condemned house, partly because it was dangerous, another part because it was once home. Now it was just a shell of what it once was.

It pained him to see it anymore now. It made his grief rise at the sight of where his family died and the years that has gone by. The elements not being all that kind to withstanding structure.

The closer they got, the more details he could make out. The black and ash charred wood, the peeling dark paint on the outside. The broken windows and splintered wood in places. It was black and brown picture. The only color was the trees behind it and the two people out front, who were talking strenuously to each other. Lydia, the girl with flawless skin; even for a human, red curls cascading down over her shoulders and down her back, pink lips and eyes as green as the canopy of the Preserve. Her purple top clung to her body, accentuating her curves, a soft gray sweater over her shoulders, dark blue skinny jeans and her signature heals. She was the picture of fashion and elegance, even next to his destroyed home. 

Beside her was Peter. He looked better, less dead. Wearing a white V-neck shirt that was a size too small and dark jeans and boots, he looked similar to Lydia in terms of put togetherness, which made Derek want to roll his eyes. His uncle was many things, slightly vain was one of them. They both were talking in hushed tones, voices too quick for Derek to pick up from where they were coming from. He saw Peter and Lydia looking back and forth, from the house to each other. Their expressions wide eyes and tense.

Derek sped up his walk, nearing a jog as he closed the distance between them, Isaac and Jackson coming up behind him. Upon seeing his nephew, Peter turned to look at him fully, not bothering to hide the worry on his face.

"What," Derek asked, looking between his uncle and the girl.

Neither one said anything. Lydia simply pointed towards the house. Derek followed her motion, looking at the house. Stepping closer he looked to see what had the two so tongue tied. When his eyes scanned his house, he found nothing, until he stopped at the door. The once bright red door, now faded, burned and peeling, now painted in black was a symbol.

It resembled a triskelion, like his family pack symbol, the one Derek carried on his back, only instead of a triangle with three spirals sprouting from each side, it was a triangle with three straight lines whose far ends were bent at a near 45 degree angle. It was a twisted version of what his pack symbol was. While the spiral in his was meant to mean movement, revolution and change, this symbol meant a dead end in it's lines. He knew that symbol and he knew it well. 

He feared seeing it one day. Today was no exception. He felt his heart drop and his wolf howl inside him.

"Derek," he heard behind him. It was Isaac, his voice low and tense. "What is that?"

Derek couldn't speak. All he saw was the black mark on the door, standing out like a brand. It was a calling card, telling him what was coming. It was a promise. Derek could feel his wolf howl and snarl inside him wanting to break free and run around his land, marking it as his and no one else's. He wanted to find vent out his frustrations and fears on the ones who did this, but if he did that, he would most likely get killed.

When Derek didn't answer, Peter did it for him. "It’s the symbol of the Alpha pack.”

"Which means what?” Jackson asked with his usual snark.

Peter sighed heavily, rubbing his hands over his face, not looking away from the symbol like Derek was. "It means, that they are here and they want something."

"Wait, what is the Alpha pack," Jackson said, his voice turning sarcastic at the word Alpha.

"Exactly what is sounds like, pup," Peter said his smirk tight with worry. "The Alpha pack is a pack made up of only Alphas. Powerful and strong, they travel the country, often from pack to pack, looking to add to their power or kill for sport."

"Why," Isaac asked.

Peter shrugged. "Because they can. They want to gain more power, more respect, more standing in the supernatural world. Each pack they have killed has added to their reputation."

"And no one has stopped them because," Lydia said in annoyance, her worried emerald eyes on Derek who had yet to speak.

Derek couldn't take his eyes off the door. His mind going over everything that could have gone wrong, actually going wrong. His pack was new and divided. Two members missing, one new beta, an Omega in town to contend with who had a personal issue with Derek, a dangerous now sick old man to find before he hurt anyone else, and now a pack of Alphas invading his territory.

His wolf growled at him, trying to tell him he forgot one other problem. One he didn't want to address.

"They are simply too powerful." Peter said remorsefully. "They kill without question and they take what they want. They have for years."

"How does a pack of Alphas work," Isaac said confused.

"That doesn't matter, right now we need to figure out what to do here," Lydia said, dismissing the beta's question.

"Which is what? What do they want?"

"Me." Derek had said, swallowing hard. He could feel the eyes of his pack on the back of his head. His wolf sensed their unease, the stress emanating from them. It made his wolf whine and growl at the same time. Desperate to end the threat and comfort at the same time. Shaking his head and breaking his gaze from the door, he turned around, catching the eyes of every member. "They are here for me."

"You," Jackson said in confusion.

"What," Isaac asked wide eyed.

"They want me. They want to recruit me," Derek said levelly.

"To be a part of their pack," Lydia finished for him. "Are you insane? You can't join them!"

"I'm not," Derek said pinching the bridge of his nose. "That is why they are here. They hear about newly formed packs and they come to scout, recruit, or kill. They bargain for power and this is no exception."

Isaac shook his head, his blue eyes wide and fearful. "You can't join them, Derek. What will happen to us if you do?"

"Nothing much, just die, probably gruesomely," Peter said dryly with a shrug.

At the looks of worry and terror on the younger members faces, he sighed heavily. Turning to sit on the steps of the porch. "I am not letting that happen. I am not going with them and no one is dying." He pointedly looked at Peter, earning a smirk in return. "Right now, our best bet is to maintain caution, be we continue to train and look for Erica and Boyd. They are our top priority."

Everyone nodded, except for Lydia who was biting her pink bottom lip. Shaking her head she said, "We need help.”

"No," Derek said quickly, not liking the idea of outsiders coming into pack business.

"Yes, we do," she said forcefully. She cocked her hip to the side, folding her arms over her chest.

"This is my pack. I have it covered.” Derek flashed his eyes in emphasis. The two boys seemed to look down in slight submission, but Lydia stood firm. She raised a perfect eyebrow, her eye narrowing. It sucked she wasn't a werewolf, he wouldn't be dealing with her like a defiant teenager then. Even though that is what she was, he at least would be able to get her to listen. It was scary how alike she and Erica were. The difference was, this girl was human and had a mind that was not overrun by instincts.

"How is that going for you exactly?" She asked with twitch of her lips. "Considering we still can’t find two of _your_ betas.”

Derek growled, making Jackson step closer to Lydia, but still not meeting his Alpha's eyes. Isaac kept looking back and forth like he was watching a movie scene unfold. "I am handling it," he said between clenched teeth. "This is how it is. You can either get with the program or leave."

"Well, I refuse to wait around and die," she said sharply, spinning on her heal, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she went. Jackson eyes went wide before he started to follow her, glancing over at Derek, then back at Lydia's retreating form, then back at Derek, Isaac and Peter. Isaac was stunned into silence. Peter was watching with his arms crossed and smirk on his face. His eyes were alight with enjoyment.

"Where are you going?” Derek called out to her as she headed to her car.

Lydia didn't bother turning around, fishing her keys from her purse over her shoulder. Instead she call back, unlocking her door with the push of a button. “I am going to go find the person who has any lick of sense around here besides me?”

Derek could only sit there and watch as the strawberry blonde got in the driver's seat with Jackson running up to climb in beside her. The car rolled to life and soon they were speeding down the driveway back towards the road that led into town. He silently cursed the hardheaded girl in the silence of the woods. He cursed the world and the stars beyond at his run of luck. It was like the universe was out to get him. 


	8. Interesting Turn of Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Lydia be able to convince Stiles to help? What will Stiles say? What awaits the pack?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!!! I got a fantastic chapter for you! So much happens and so many familiar faces. What happens, well that if for you to read. Thank you all for your excitement and you comments and love. I have much more to come for you so keep reading! I love your comments and what you hope will happen. Some of you will get your wish, but I won't say who or what. LOL THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! ONTO THE NEXT CHAPTER!

Talk about an interesting turn of events, not to mention a headache filled day. At least that’s what Stiles thought when he was sitting in living room with Lydia and Jackson standing there in the middle of the room. Lydia looked confident and collected while Jackson looked uncomfortable. He was putting on his best smirk, but it seemed to lack the heat it used to. Or maybe Stiles didn’t care anymore at this point. 

“Do you mind telling me why you barged into my house,” Stiles asked. 

“You opened the door,” Lydia said smoothly. 

“Not my first mistake and definitely not my last,” Stiles muttered. Folding his hands on his lap, he looked at both the teenagers. Lydia looking like she had multiple things to say and Jackson looked uncomfortable. 

Lydia spoke first. "We are here to ask you something?"

"Really," Stiles deadpanned.

Jackson rolled his eyes, huffing out a breath. "Look Stilinski, she has it in her head that you are useful," he said giving his girlfriend the stink eye before looking back at Stiles with his usual condescension. "Frankly, I don't see it. But I find it hard to change her mind."

Stiles ignored Lydia glare at Jackson. "That would require you to have the neurons to change her mind." Stiles plainly said. That earned him a glare from the jock, but a small smirk from Lydia. "You are also not earning brownie points in your favor."

"Stiles," she began. "We came because there is another pack. They left a message. The Alpha pack is here and they want Derek."

Stiles tried to pretend he wasn't shocked, but he could tell he failed. He felt his eyes widen the slightest bit and his heart skipped a beat. He had no idea what an Alpha pack was, but obviously it didn't sound good. Also who names a pack Alpha pack. I mean cliche much. But then to what about the reason they were here. They want Derek. Stiles didn't know what that meant. Did they want to kill him, capture him, have him join them; the list of possibilities was longer than Stiles cared for and he didn't like it. 

Then he thought about Derek. About the Sourwolf and his growly demeanor. He thought at the last time he saw him. The anger and rage in his red eyes. The growls slipping from his throat as he ridiculed Stiles. The taught muscles under his shirt as he restrained himself from doing something stupid. The hurt and betrayal that cross his features. It made Stiles feel on the verge of grief. Despite none of it being true, that he had not betrayed and hurt Derek like that, he still felt it. He felt the Alpha's emotions like waves. Derek really believed Stiles had been the mastermind. The artist to plan out the scheme. 

Stiles tried to make him see the truth, practically begged him to see it, and it nothing worked. It made his heart hurt and insides twist at how far Stiles had fallen. It also made him feel a bitterness that was so dry and hurtful, that he had never felt before. With all the hurt Derek felt, Stiles felt it ten times worse. Unlike Derek, Stiles lost his best friend, his pack, and a man who could have been his Alpha. 

Stiles thought he and Derek were on a good path. A road to a true friendship. He liked Derek, more so than he cared to admit. Sure, the man had his faults, but Stiles understood why. He never blamed Derek for it, at least he did his best not to.

"We...we wanted to ask for your help." Lydia said, studying his face as he blanked out for a moment. His thoughts taking over. Jackson looked like he was scrutinizing him, his nostrils were flared and Stiles could tell he was smelling his scent. "Anything you can research on them or what we can do to protect ourselves."

“No,” he said softly, looking away from them to the floor. 

“No?”

”I already told you I cannot help. It is not my place,” Stiles said with slight tension, looking at Lydia fully. 

Jackson looked surprised and a little angry at that. “What the hell do you mean you won’t help? Are you really so butt-hurt about McCall that you will ignore the pack? As much I dislike it, you are still in this.” 

Stiles refused to show emotion at the mention of Scott. The low in his gut sting at his name made him feel nauseous. He missed his best friend, but he couldn't see him. He couldn't talk to him. Scott had made his choice. He chose to work with Gerard, chose to not look for Stiles and assume he was weak. He chose to allow hours to pass, not trying to call or text him while Stiles got tortured. His former best friend chose to put Allison and the Argent's before him multiple times. Even before Derek, when all the man wanted to do was help him. After all of that, he tells Stiles that he is the one with the problem, that he is not needed to help. 

_'Go home, let my pack handle the rest.'_

Those words stuck with him as much as Derek's. He was not pack. Not to either of them. It made him sad and incredibly angry. After everything he had done for them. The times he has saved them, all the times he has bailed them out of trouble. He has risked his own life in the process, just as much as they have. He has the fucking scars to prove it!

And here he is, forced out, left alone. No word from anyone for days, still doing their dirty work and dealing with the repercussions. He was still trying to help look for Erica and Boyd. Studying his magic so that he could use it to find them. Losing sleep over his nightmares and what he should be doing, while they focus on one problem at a time. He was being asked to help while being kept at arms length.

"There isn’t much I can do for you, for them," forcing the words out on a steady breath.

"Get over it, Stilinski! Stop being a push over. Your acting like a hu-"

He stopped. Jackson clammed up faster than Stiles ever saw him. Lydia was clenching his hand, her eyes wide as she looked at him.

"Stop being what," Stiles asked coldly, aiming a glare at Jackson. " _Human?_ "

"That is not what he meant," Lydia said, scowling at Jackson before looking back at Stiles. 

"No, no let him finish," Stiles said, leaning forward, putting his elbows on his knees. The full weight of his amber eyes on them both. Stiles could feel his anger building for the second time that day. He reminded himself to breath calmly, to reel in his anger. He wasn't going to reveal his magic to them. As much as he would like to wipe Jackson's smirk off his face with it, he couldn't do that. He also was no where near trained enough to do any real damage. At least not the kind that he could control. "You are right, I am human. Nothing but flesh, blood, bone, and completely ordinary." _Okay now you are laying it on thick, Stiliniski,_ he thought.

When the two teenagers just stood there, stunned into silence, Stiles smirked.

"I am human," he continued. "I am proud of that, because this human saved your sorry, stuck up ass. I won't take all the credit, that would make me, well like you. I will take some though. If not for me and Lydia, the two _humans_ in the group, you would still be scaly and hissing at people before you gut them." Stiles watched as Jackson went from angry to wide eyed, his composure falling away. His eyes never left Stiles' face, but Stiles saw him grip Lydia's hand more firmly. "Your welcome by the way. As much as I don't like you, no one deserves to be treated like a tool for other's gains. No one deserves to be a...monster."

Jackson went pale at the word. Stiles never once broke his gaze, amber gazing into blue eyes. He watched Jackson swallow hard, tightening his jaw like he was preventing himself from throwing up or opening his mouth to speak. When the silence stretched on, Stiles leaned back in his seat. 

"Lydia can I speak to you alone," Stiles asked not unkindly. At that look Jackson looked at her and back at Stiles like he had just affronted him. Stiles had to hide a chuckle.

Lydia nodded, much to her boyfriends displeasure. When Jackson was about to protest, Lydia held up a hand to stop him. "Please just give us a few minutes. I'll talk to him." When Jackson seemed to deflate, not wanting to go against her, he started to move, heading out of the house back to his car. He did give Stiles another dark look, growling under his breath as he did which Stiles only rolled his eyes at. He may not be powerful and all with his magic, but Jackson was not someone to get worked up over. He had most of his childhood to get used to the Lacrosse Captain. 

His thoughts temporarily drifted to Danny, silently wondering what the other boy saw in Jackson. What was it that Danny saw behind in him to be best friends with him for so long? Was it because they were both popular, because they were good at sports, because everyone seemed to fall at their feet? Maybe it was because they balanced each other out so well, Stiles wondered. Jackson was like aggression and bite, while Danny was gentle and understanding. 

It was a good thing he asked Danny to come by later in the evening. He wasn't sure why Danny hadn't said anything about Jackson in recent weeks, but he figured it was because Danny was ignoring him. He remembered seeing Danny's phone light up with texts from Jackson, but he never noticed if there were any replies. Stiles couldn't think of why Danny might be mad at his best friend. It made him curious, curious enough that he might just ask.

"Amazing how after a couple of weeks, he forgets how human he was and still is," Stiles said, getting up to stand a few feet from her, his back towards the fireplace, waiting for her to turn around. 

“He’s adjusting. We all are,” she said softly, turning her green gaze to Stiles. He waited for her to say more, letting her get whatever she needed off her chest. “Look, I know you don’t want to get involved, but this has nothing to do with Scott. This is Derek and the pack.”

Stiles nodded. “I am aware.”

“Are you?” She challenged, arching an eyebrow. "Because it seems like you want nothing to do with it."

”What good would it do me, besides get me killed,” Stiles asked in a low voice.

"I don’t know, you get to help your friends, be part of something bigger than this town deserves." She studied him for a moment, her intense gaze scrutinizing. She swallowed before she spoke, like what she would say next would hold some weight to her argument. "One thing you are Stiles Stilinski is good. You won’t let others hurt if you can help it.”

"Maybe I should.”

"What are you talking about,” she asked in slight exasperation.

"These friends, you call them, who are they exactly.” He asked, hearing own voice go distant and emotionless.

He had to get this out. If he didn't he might never again. He didn't blame Lydia for a lot of things, especially not for the supernatural. She was new to all of this, much like he still was in some ways. She obviously didn't know the truth. She didn't know the real reason why he wouldn't help. Maybe he should tell her. It would help her understand his hesitation. It might even earn him sympathy from her.

One thing Stiles had thought about for years was Lydia Martin comforting him, any time he got upset. Of course that was never going to happen, probably in any universe, so why dwell on it. He could tell her everything and let it sink. Let her feel the weight that has been on his shoulders and the terrible clenching around his heart since that night.

Yeah he could earn some sympathy points from her, but he could just as easily earn pity. He couldn't handle that. He didn't _want_ that. The swelling sadness he felt from that night was a constant in his life right now. Most days he pushed that down, letting the bitterness, anger, and hurt take front and center. He hid his pain behind a mask. Much like she did. Only Danny knew the truth, he could see how much Stiles was affected, but Danny has not pushed him. Danny let him be, until he was willing to talk about it with him.

Lydia hid herself for years. She hid her genius, her desire for knowledge, her fierce loyalty, her need for companionship. All of it locked away under the perfect, beautiful, shallow mask she worked to keep in place. If anyone knew about hiding, Lydia definitely did. Stiles could tell her, but why should he. For years, that mask reigned, often doing things to people that was cold.

"Isaac and I barely exchange words," he said, after a moment, taking advantage of her stunned state. "He couldn’t care less what happens with me one way or the other. Jackson, the selfish jock, has made it his life’s mission to point out my lack of social prowess in every way until the best years are behind us. Then there's Peter, who I helped light on fire with homemade cocktails, so _your_ alpha could become what he is today. Erica and Boyd, when they were here, either used their new abilities to intimidate, threaten, or ignore me. And Derek," Stiles said, his voice cracking just a bit, "Derek doesn’t tolerate me nor does he even care if I get hurt or not. I have the bruises from him to prove it."

He used his negative emotions to fuel his words. His voice remained distant, only showing the slightest emotion when he reached Erica and Boyd's names. The last time he saw them, passing behind his eyes. Bloody, dirty, and struggling with everything they could muster. Stiles hoped they were fighting for him, to help him, or to escape to help them all, but he wasn't sure. Not now. His words bore truth. They never showed interest in protecting him, or liking him for that matter. None of them did, except for maybe Peter. 

Peter had offered him the bite months ago, but that might have been him just trying to get more members in a pack. He was psychotic then, or more psychotic than normal. Or maybe he offered it as a way to toy with Stiles. Playing on his desire to help save Lydia, which she also didn't know about. He never told anyone about that night either. The more time that passed, the more it seemed his secrets and lies were building, towering over him like a giant shadow, waiting to engulf him.

During his speech, Lydia stayed silent. Her green eyes going darker with each sentence, each fact, each dark truth of where Stiles really stood with the members of the pack. He didn’t even mention Scott. Frankly he didn’t have to. She had to remember the last time the two actually spoke. The time where Scott proved to him how little he thought of his best friend, he little he cared. 

But Stiles wasn’t done yet. There was one other person he had to point out and _she_ was staring at him with a cracking mask on her face. 

"Or you for that matter." He said, focusing completely on her gaze. "For years, you have not acknowledged I was even alive, then all of a sudden, two visits to my house in less than two weeks. Now, you expect me to roll over and think nothing is different."

"Stiles I-"

"I watched you you know,” he said interrupting her. He realized a little late how that statement sounded so he quickly continued. "Admired you for your brilliance, control, socialism. Just once I wished you had spoken to me in school, really spoken with me. But you never did."

Her eyes were glistening now. Her mask slipping with each passing second. Stiles was glad his words stung. It might make him feel guilty about it later, considering she was not part of the pack before all of this with Jackson, but he would deal with that later. She had made her own mark on him, now she had to face it.

"I thought, for a moment, that after you learned about all this, things would be different. That we could move away from the past and actually be friends. That’s what I wanted.” He said fighting back his own sullen emotions. “But I guess I’m not good enough for the great Lydia Martin."

She shook her head, the tears spilling down her cheeks. "No, that is not true."

”I am not part of any of this." He said, feeling now more tired than bitter. He said what he needed to, his words now spent and wanting to speed this along. "I don’t think I ever was. I am just the boy who knew to much, and put his nose where it didn’t belong.”

Lydia looked like she wanted to argue, her tears turning dark as they picked up mascara. She seemed to want to stand firm and sort everything out. Even if it meant having a screaming match. Instead, she surprised him by not saying anything. She didn't come back with a retort, nor denial of his words, or anything to sway his view. She turned her eyes away from him, her jaw working as she struggled with her tears. Stiles saw the pale skin of her neck move as she swallowed strenuously.

Deciding to have some mercy on her, because he was a good person, damn his compassion, "I will still help look for Boyd and Erica. They are my main priority, as for the Alpha pack, that is up to Derek."

She swallowed again, before nodding her head slowly.

"I'll keep in contact with you with any updates I have on more leads or whereabouts," he said his voice now barely above a whisper.

Lydia sniffled for a moment before deciding it was time to leave, not looking at Stiles. Stiles watched as she moved towards the door. Stiles leaned back against the fireplace, the mantle hitting his shoulder blades. He felt his magic swirl inside him, providing warmth. He couldn't help but feel cold, like he just did something that he never would have. Maybe that was true. Once upon a time, maybe he never would have talked to Lydia Martin like that. He would have thanked her, begged her to come around more. Not anymore. Not after all that he has been through.

Before she left through the door, she spoke, breaking him out of staring at the floor. "I'm sorry, Stiles." She said, her voice heavy with emotion. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't get a chance to say anything more as she left closing the door quickly behind her. In truth what could he say. A part of him felt bad for upsetting her, but another part of him felt satisfied. Having felt like he finally accomplished what he should have. Finally letting how he treated be seen. He was pleasantly surprised he didn't have the need to shout or get angry. Instead he felt a cold detachment, like the anger wasn't worth it. He spoke the truth and that was it. 

It was for the best and he knew it. He wasn't pack, so why get involved? He would do his part and help find Erica and Boyd, make sure they were okay. After that, it would all end. He would walk away completely. No more pack business, no more interactions with them. They would no longer ask for his help and he would be back on the sidelines. He would focus on his magic and nothing else.

Eventually he would get around to saying the same things to Scott, if ever he would get the courage to talk to his best friend. He still had yet to reply to any of Scott's texts, a couple more appearing over the weeks. Still, Scott has not come by, not visited or tried to make physical contact. Stiles couldn't handle talking with his former brother anyway. If he did, his cold calm, might just break. He feared what his anger would make him do or say. His magic was responsive to his emotions even more now, so he had to maintain his control. No, he couldn't talk to Scott, not now.

But there was one person he did want to talk to.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, shooting off a text to Danny, asking him to come over early. He mentioned Lydia and Jackson's visit and Danny replied barely a couple seconds later.

**Danny: On my way.**

Danny arrived about twenty minutes later. Coming from across town, Stiles didn't know what he was up to, but given how he smelled of dirt and had small smudges on the bottom of his shirt, he guessed he was at his grandmother's flower shop. He looked a little out of breath, although Stiles couldn't tell why. Danny found him in the living room, sitting on the far side of the couch, legs curled up underneath him. Danny slowly sat down on the couch with him, clasping his hands in his lap loosely, leaning back against the cushions. Neither spoke for a moment until Danny seemed to get up the courage to ask.

"So what happened?"

Stiles sighed heavily. Not lifting his head from it's resting place on his arm. "Apparently the Alpha pack is in town,” Stiles said smoothly not missing the way Danny turned his head to look at him, his eyes bugging out in a way that he almost found comical. But another look at the fear in those dark eyes, he stopped short. "You have heard of them?"

Danny nodded his face going dark. He ran a hand through his short hair. "The Alpha pack has a reputation that precedes them. One that is more violent than you may think."

"What is it," Stiles asked with curiosity.

"The Alpha pack is made up of all Alpha's, with one who reigns above the rest. Deucalion, is the head of them," Danny said seriously. "He is strong, very strong. For being blind, he makes up for it in his narcissistic psychotic beliefs."

"He's blind?"

"It happened years ago," Danny said with a shrug. "I don't know how it happened, just that it was from hunters."

Stiles nodded. Well at least he understood what the man went through, at least a little. "So what does he want with Beacon Hills?"

"Deucalion has it in his head that a perfect pack means a strong pack. He seeks out those with great potential. Mostly, alphas. He and his pack go from pack to pack, trying to _recruit_ members. Often times, it doesn't go as they planned," Danny said venomously.

"How so," even though Stiles was sure of the answer.

Danny looked at him with sad, but angry eyes. "If he cannot get others to join him, he kills them, along with all members of their pack."

"How has no one done anything about them," Stiles asked in outrage. "The bodies pile up, but no one does anything."

Danny shook his head. "The supernatural world does not thrive on laws. It keeps to itself, in the shadows. You know this. You know that murders are always seen as animal attacks or get turned into cold cases. No one stands against them because they can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"There isn't much of a difference anymore. Other packs are too afraid. Deucalion only goes after werewolf packs, nothing else. He wants the perfect pack to stand behind him. Natural born wolves with the instincts to go along with it."

"So that's why he wants Derek," Stiles muttered. "Because he is a natural born werewolf."

Danny nodded, sitting forward to lean on his knees. "Also because of his name." At Stiles' confusion Danny finished. "The Hale name has been known in the supernatural world for centuries. It is a long standing family name and their land has always been Beacon Hills. Derek's family protected this land and now he does too."

"So they want the territory too." Stiles sighed, fighting back the nausea in his chest at the thought of a group of Alpha's doing God knows what in this town. No one to stop them, and Derek beside them. "Derek wouldn't allow that. He won't leave his pack to join them."

"He may not have to," Danny said sadly.

"What do you mean?"

"Deucalion will not allow Derek's old pack to live," Danny explained, looking at the floor as he recalled his knowledge. "It would mean they are a threat. A threat to Derek and to him. If one of his beta's manages to kill Derek, they would get his power, therefore decimating Deucalion's dream. It would also mean they could rally other packs or create another pack, one to rival his own."

"So he would kill them," Stiles said in a whisper.

Danny nodded. Stiles let that sink in. No, Derek wouldn't allow that to happen. Derek was a lot of things, but he was not a selfish. He would not let his pack die for that mad man. He has proven time and again that he would rather it be him than someone else, especially when it comes to his betas. No, he couldn't do that. As much as Derek hid behind his walls, Stiles did know that he cared, when he would allow himself to. Derek would not throw away lives for power, especially not for some other Alpha.

Before either of them spoke, the heard a rumbling sound. Stiles looked out the window to see a sleek black Camaro outside his living room window, parked on the side of the road. A man in dark clothes and a leather jacket getting out. He didn't have to wait but a few seconds before loud knock sounded on the door. He heart had jumped into his throat and his stomach seemed to drop. 

"Stiles!" came a deep grumble, loud enough to be heard from the other side of the door from the living room.

 

*** * * * * * ***

To say that Lydia was happy was so far from the truth that it was no where near funny. She left Stiles’ house in tears, something she has never done. She never aloud herself to break down in public, not in front of anyone if she could help it. After closing the door she practically ran towards her car, ignoring Jackson's concerns and giving death glares to Stile's house as they drove off. She fiercely wiped at her face, clearing away the evidence of her loss of composure. Jackson profusely asked her to talk to him, but she kept quiet. Her lost keeping her busy as they drove back to the Hale house. 

Stiles words stung, in fact they hurt. Never has anyone talked to her like that. Never has anyone dared. She should be angry. She should feel humiliated and furious, but she didn't. She couldn't no matter how hard her shallow side was telling her to. 

She had no right.

Stiles spoke the truth. The kid was smart, insightful enough to know the right buttons to push to get the points across. He didn't hit every button, but it was enough. She could see the sorrow on his face, the bitter detachment in his eyes. When he spoke of the pack, she heard his voice break, even though he tried to hide it. Stiles truly thought he was not pack. It made her tears heavier as she thought about that Friday night.

The look of painful grief and shock on his face. The way he looked at Scott, like he was a stranger. Yet she did nothing. She could have spoken up then, but she stayed quiet. In truth, she was too stunned to speak. She never thought those two would fight like that. Thick as thieves if the term she thought when she wanted to give meaning to Stiles and Scott's friendship. It seems that was a lie. 

Pulling up to the house again, she parked, nearly ripping her keys out of the ignition before throwing herself out of the car. Jackson following her.

"Well," Peter asked from behind his book as the two young love birds came up to the house. He was sitting on the stairs, Derek was just coming out from inside the house, looking dusty and had small dark smudges on his dark blue T-shirt. Isaac was apparently gone, having disappeared somewhere else. If they noticed Lydia's red rimmed eyes they didn't mention it. "How did it go?"

"The asshole said he won't help," Jackson spat.

Lydia turned around to slap him hard in the back of the head. The crack of skin contact echoing around them. He looked baffled at her reaction, but she instead turned away from him, uncaring about her action. She eyed both older wolves, looking at them evenly. Both of them were as stunned as Jackson at her attack. She didn't care. The more she thought over Stiles words, the more hurt she felt. It wasn't for herself though. It was for him.

She didn't want to tell them, but it wasn't like she could hide it. Especially not now since Jackson had already said something. She understood Stiles reasoning for not helping. She didn't blame him. At first, she might have thought he was being petty, but she knew better. Stiles was hurting and felt betrayed. He was upset with Scott and he had every right to be. She didn't fully understand not wanting to help Derek and the other's, partly because she didn't know them personally before she was brought into the fray. Stiles said he was not treated like a friend, so maybe he really didn't want to help them either. Maybe Stiles wasn't welcome.

But that couldn't be right. He was pack. Maybe not to Scott, but to Derek he was. Lydia had seen how they worked together. She had seen how they looked at one another is the very short times she had seen them, she noticed it. They had a slight trust towards one another, an odd relationship that was more bite than warmth, but it seemed to work well under pressure. So why did Stiles think that Derek didn't want him around? Why was Derek against disturbing Stiles with all of this?

"He says he will not help with the Alpha pack. He wants no part in it."

Peter seemed to nod in understanding, his face morphing to look almost sad. That was a surprise to Lydia. She never liked Peter, especially after what he did to her and with him coming back from the dead. She didn't like his secrecy on things, nor his snarky, sociopathic arrogance. There was enough of that in Jackson. Yes, even though she loved Jackson, she did find his attitude bothersome. She didn't trust Peter and in fact nearly went out of her way to avoid him. He did apologize to her, several times in fact, about his behavior when he was Alpha. She believed his sincerity, hearing his side of the story, therefore hearing more about the Hale house fire. She needed time to collect her thoughts and feeling, especially when Peter was the sole shadow in her nightmares. She had only seen him look sad or upset once, and that was when he told her about his past. It was a stark contrast to his usual cocky, calm demeanor. This time it had nothing to do with his painful memories, it was like he was hurt by the news.

"What," Derek said quickly grabbing her attention.

She simply shrugged, seeing the flare in his nostrils and tightening of his jaw. Huh, maybe Derek cares more than he lets on. 

"He says he won't help," Jackson said behind her, earning him a glare from her. Silently she prayed he would for once shut up.

"Did he say why," Peter asked, although he was looking at Derek who either did not notice or was avoiding his gaze.

Lydia shook her head, "He said it was not his place."

Jackson looked at her in confusion, but she clenched her hand around his wrist, digging her nails into his skin. It was her silent way of telling him to keep quiet. She knew he heard her and Stiles' conversation. Heard the whole truth about why he will not help. She also did not want to tell Derek. It was partly because she feared his reaction. She feared if he would be angry and go after Stiles to confront him on his views. Another part of her feared that he would prove Stiles right and react nonchalantly. 

It was not her place to say anyway. This was something Stiles had to say. If they wanted his help, they would have to prove it to him.

 _She_ would have to prove it to him. That was exactly what she was going to do. She just had to work out how.

Peter seemed to nod out of the corner of her eye. She kept her gaze on Derek who seemed to go tense. His expression was unreadable. "I wonder what makes him think that," Peter said to no one in particular, going back to his book, ignoring them.

Lydia looked at the older man for a moment, trying to deduce what his statement meant. Did Peter know? Did he know why Stiles would not help? She looked back at the Alpha. Derek was clenching his fists, but was silent. It took a few moments for anyone to say anything. This time it was Derek to break the silence. Only he didn't say anything. He simply stepped down off the rotting porch and started to walk towards his Camaro.

"Where are you going," Jackson asked incredulously.

Derek didn't answer them. Instead he stalked onward, pulling open his driver door and sliding in. The engine purred to life and he took off, sending dirt and fallen leaves into the air as he went. He left the three of them watching. Jackson bemused, Lydia curious, and Peter slightly amused and also what looked like worried. Lydia didn't know what to say after that. She had questions now. She wanted to ask Peter who seemed to know a little more than she did, but she didn't want to talk to the man.

Instead she got lost in her thoughts, thinking over how she could talk to Stiles again. She had to make it up to him, or try at least. The weeks they had spent together, where he slowly peeled away her mask, she came to see Stiles as more than the hyperactive kid. He was different. He didn't sugar coat things, but he wasn't insensitive. In fact he was probably more compassionate than she ever would have thought possible. During their whole conversation, she couldn't help but think he seemed different though. Different from the boy who sat in bedroom, trying to coax her to talk to him. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew it was true. There was something different, something new. How curious? 

 

*** * * * * * ***

 

Derek didn't know what he was doing when he was parking in front of the Stilinski household. He barely remembered the drive. All he could think about was getting to Stiles and probably forcing him to explain. When he pounded on the door, her vaguely heard two heartbeat's inside. He called out Stiles' name. He could have come threw the window like he has done in the past, but for some reason he came to the door. Maybe it was his subconscious way of remembering that Stiles was not pack anymore.

He stood on the other side of the door, listening to Stiles heartbeat on the other side. He could distinctly hear it, picking it apart from the other one. It was beating faster than it did when he was calm, but otherwise it still sounded like it normally did.

"Open up," he said against the wooden door, knowing Stiles would hear him fine.

He heard a scoffing from the other side, steps getting close to the door. "No," the blatant reply came.

"I need to talk to you," he said. Great, he was in for childish games.

"I don't care what you need. I know what you want and the answer is no."

"Stiles, open the door."

The was a loud thud that reminded Derek of something hitting the other side of the wooden door. Maybe a fist? It made him retreat back a little, thinking that Stiles might just open the door to throw something at him next. "Fuck off," came the sharp, angered reply. It made Derek growl. The Alpha in him not liking being spoken to so rudely. 

"I never asked Lydia to get you involved."

"You didn't stop her either."

"Stiles, I-" Derek had stopped. Not knowing what to say. What could he say? He didn't trust Stiles. He couldn't after what he did. Derek had practically forced Stiles away, stated he was not pack or anything to Derek. Stiles was a talented liar, smart, cunning, with a knack for trouble. How was Derek supposed to accept his help? No matter what the howling his wolf inside him was making, he just couldn't. "Just-just don't do anything stupid."

"Like what," he heard from the other side. "Like help? Rest assured, your pack is safe from my _influence_."

"That is not-"

"You can leave now. Message received."

Derek tried the handle, finding it locked. It wouldn't hold up against his strength, but he did possess common manners, as hard as it was for others to believe. He was getting irritated, talking through the door. Why wouldn't Stiles open the door? Better question, why was he even here? He didn't want to ask for his help, but then he did. "Can I just-" 

"No. You have already said everything you needed to."

"You know I can break down the door."

"Good luck getting past the mountain ash beneath the door line." 

That surprised Derek. He looked down, expecting to see a dark line of ash on the white wood, but found nothing. So it was under the door on the inside. Derek could feel the pulse of it through the door. The magical repellent that would keep him out along with any other creature. Derek wondered when the boy had used the ash if Jackson and Lydia had been here, but he could have just broken the line. He couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that ran through him. He didn't understand it's origin. Why should he feel like that about being kept out? Did he really expect Stiles to keep his door open for them all to stroll through when they felt like it?

Derek hadn't told the others about what he did. He hadn't told them about his proclamation of Stiles not being pack and probably never will be pack. It was not something they needed to know. Unless it put them in danger, this was between him and Stiles.

The boy was silent on the other side of the door, but Derek could clearly hear his heartbeat, thudding in that same fast rhythm. He could smell Stiles through the door. The warm scent of vanilla and spice like earth or maple wood. Derek was surprised it was a strong as it was, but it also smell a little different. He couldn’t explain it, but it was there, no less pleasant. It was not his business to care, though.

"There in lies the effect." Came Stiles voice again, a littler harder, but still quiet. "I am out of all of this. I'm not a part of this, remember. You have made that quite clear and can now have nothing further to say."

Derek was angry. He was annoyed. Leave it to the universe to make him deal with a bunch of teenagers. But then he supposed he should have expected this. This was what he wanted. It seemed Stiles wanted it now too. Although Derek didn't know what Stiles could be so upset about. Derek was the one who was betrayed. He was the one who had to endure getting tricked and forced to bite a man he wanted to see with his throat ripped out. Derek was the one who had lost most of his pack in one night and still hadn't been able to put it back together since. Stiles was a teenager, a human, one who had no business dabbling in the supernatural. Aside from Scott, Stiles had no claim to this world. He gave the kid props for not turning tail and running after it all got tough, but that was because the boy had no sense of self-preservation. 

Stiles risked what he could to protect those he cared about. He did what he could to help. Even go so far as to manipulate and lie. Like he did to Derek. So what did he have to be angry over. The boy was smart enough to know there would be consequences. He knew Derek would never forgive betrayal by those he was beginning to trust. He really did believe he could trust Stiles, apparently he was wrong.

"Fine." Derek gritted out. "I'll deal with this myself."

Derek turned and stomped back down the driveway towards his Camaro. For whatever reason, his sense ignored the rest of the world, focusing on the house behind him as he walked away. He focused on the heartbeat behind the door, beating fast out of whatever emotion he could not identify. He heard a small thump on the other side, slightly muffled. It was followed by words, softly spoken, but with a slight edge to them, "So be it."

Hearing those made his gut twist. Inside, his wolf was whining, his gut dropping, like those words were a finality, one that he didn't want to think about.

 

*** * * * * * ***

Stiles stayed quiet for a few moments, slowly trying to gain his breath back. Derek's gruff voice echoing in his mind. He had not expected to see Derek again, not even hear his voice. He never thought Derek would be the one to first make contact even he he did think they would be thrown together again. In some part of his mind, he had hoped, he hoped that he would be able to see the man again. Maybe to be able to get a second chance to get him to see the truth, make him see that Stiles would not put Derek through that. If he ever arrived at such a thought, he would have gone to Derek immediately. Never would he have tricked him. Of course, Derek didn't see it that way.

Why would he?

They weren't friends. They were just acquaintances, thrown into the situations that constantly found their paths crossing. Only a few times they have actually worked together. They were allies at the best of times. The rest of the time, they were just individuals. Once he thought that it could be different, but the universe loved proving him wrong.

Still, Derek sought him out this time. He came to him, telling him to be careful in his own short, austere way. Stiles didn't expect that. He expected Derek to come rip his throat out for his pack members, Jackson and Lydia, coming to his house and being anywhere near him. He thought Derek would tell him to stay away from his pack. He didn't want to hear those words again. Derek already made his view of him clear. So Stiles said the words for him. 

He took those words and threw them back into Derek's face-well through the door and into his face. He would have no part in it. 

He didn't know what disappointed him more, that he was kicked out of the pack or that he had _accepted_ that. In truth, he had accepted it. He couldn't play the fool and hope for change. It was not going to happen.

That is why he was making changes himself. He was training with Chris and Danny, learning more about himself every day. He was trying to learn about his magic, something he didn't expect was possible. Little by little he was improving and getting better. It had gotten to the point that Stiles became so used to his magic, it was the first thing he felt in the morning. Always there, always like a little flame under his skin in his chest. It was like an energy source that help push him through the day. Despite his nightmares, where his magic was non-existent, where he was helpless, he still awoke in tears and stifled screams. He would reach for his magic, trying to feel if it was really there. That his nightmares were just nightmares. 

That was the only thing that was yet to start improving. His nightmares came every night, relentless and staggering. He hated nights anymore. Sometimes he would try his best to not sleep, staying up as late as he can, often till almost when his dad would arrive home from work, but always falling asleep from exhaustion. Still woken up by his haunting subconscious soon after. 

Stiles was making changes to better himself. It was not for Derek's pack. It was to help find Erica and Boyd and that was it. The rest was for him. It was to prove to himself that he was not weak. He was not helpless.

Stepping away from the door, his pushed his thoughts away from Derek, heading back into the living room, finding Danny sitting at the tablet between him and the kitchen. He was looking at his phone, reading a text message, only to turn his screen black. The boy put his phone down as Stiles came in. He looked up with his dark eyes, trying to offer a small smile. 

"So, how's Miguel?"

Stiles groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have had you over that day," he said, sitting down in the chair beside Danny. He brought the can of Coke the other boy had set of for him up to his lips, taking a long swig. Danny was chuckling beside him. 

"I thought it was funny," Danny said with a smirk. "Aside from none of you knowing about me, I give you props for trying. It was nearly convincing."

"What are you talking about? It was very convincing," Stiles said, feigning hurt. 

Danny laughed. Taking a sip from his own drink. Stiles found himself smiling, something he did rather rarely anymore. He used to smile more often, but not recently. When he did, it was usually sad or forced, hardly ever genuine. In those rare occasions when it would be real, it would be with Danny. He liked Danny, he was grateful for all that Danny had done for him. Stiles just wished he could give something back in return. 

"I have to say," Danny began, "even though you pimped him out, I did enjoy the view."

Stiles rolled his eyes. Of course Danny would point out Derek's body. Stiles remembered that day clearly. He could practically recall Danny eyes bugging out and the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallowed when Derek stood shirtless in Stiles' bedroom. It was the first thing that came to his mind, honestly it was. He needed Danny's help then and a little incentive never hurt anyone, right? It was surprising that Derek went alone with it. Of course he was still pissed. Tell that to the bruise on Stiles' forehead that didn't go away for a week when Derek forced it to get intimate with his steering wheel. Rude much!

Stiles had to admit that he didn't blame Danny for oogling. Stiles had snuck in a few peaks himself, although he wouldn't admit it outside his own mind.

"Seriously, you have to appreciate that man's aesthetic appeal," Danny said with a grin, his dark eyes unfocused as he no doubt got lost in his own memory of those moments. When Stiles didn't say anything Danny simmered down some, his expression growing considerate. "You know, you never said what type of guys you are attracted to. You must have had crushes, right?"

Stiles felt his eyebrows meet his hairline. He didn't expect the conversation to take this turn. It was startling to say the least. True, his bisexuality wasn't a secret, but he never out right made it publically known. Only his dad and Scott knew the truth. Now Danny. With a shrug Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I have. But it's not like I have many opportunities to pursue those crushes."

"Why not?"

Stiles looked at the table, feeling a little self-conscious. "I am a hyperactive kid, with attention deficit disorder, lack of any curve appeal, and low on the social chain. Pretty self explanatory."

Danny shook his head. "That is not true." Stiles looked at him, barely registering the firm lines on his face. "You once asked me once if gay guys would find you attractive. The answer if yes. You are certainly attractive."

"You're still not my type, Danny," Stiles quipped.

Danny flicked his arm. "I'm everyone's type." The boy smiled, his dark eyes still on Stiles face. Stiles was making a point to not look at Danny.

Danny may be trying to make him feel better, but Stiles had heard this pep talk before. His dad had given it times before and so did Scott, of course that was when Scott was his best friend and didn't have girlfriend. When neither knew about the supernatural world. He had heard about his qualities enough times he could recite them, but in truth, Stiles couldn't see them. He may have a big brain, but that was all he saw. He wasn't athletic like Danny or Jackson, he lacked muscle tone like Derek, had amber-brown eyes instead of Scott's puppy dog brown. Now to go with his list of faults, he had scars over his body. Ugly slash marks and burns from his troubles. Troubles of sticking his nose where it didn't belong. Of caring too much and getting very little in return.

"Yeah, well it's not like it matters." Stiles said, finishing his can in one long gulp. "Of the few people I have had a crush on, none of them would ever look at me that way."

"Oh, so sure are you," Danny asked, leaning back in his seat. "Now you have to tell me who these people are."

Stiles waved his hand. "Most are celebrities like anyone else. But there was one who was a full on crush, the other...just a thought, I guess."

"Now you really have to tell me," he said with a grin. "I already know about Lydia. That you made painfully obvious for years, but who is the other?"

Stiles wasn't surprised Danny guess Lydia. Everyone would guess Lydia. Stiles had made the mistake of making it crystal clear for years. It was one subject he was ridiculed about for. Often made fun of for his _out there_ wishful thinking. "It doesn't matter. What's done is done. They are no longer a possibility."

"You make it sound like they are either dead or that hope is lost," Danny said with a frown.

Stiles shrugged. "Either would be acceptable."

Danny was about to say more when the door opened a yipping sound came from the foyer. Hopping up from the kitchen table in time to see his dad come in, holding a red leash around his fist. At his feet was Luna, panting with her pink tongue out, her tail wagging like crazy as she came into the living room. Her nose leading her to various items and she bounced from one thing to the next.

Stiles wasted no time in rushing towards the mutt, dropping to his knees. At the sight of him, Luna barked, her tail bouncing from side to side. She practically jumped on him as he came close, licking at his hands and his face. He was a fit of giggles and snorts as he pet her. Danny came in behind him and she went back and forth between them, licking and whining at them both, trying to get as much attention as possible. 

"Luna," Stiles exclaimed. "Hey girl, what you doing here? Did you miss me?"

Noah Stilinski cleared his throat as he took off his key ring to dangle it in his hand. "Uh, I'm here too."

"Yeah, hi dad," Stiles said in between Luna's licks. He pet the thick fur around her shoulders, loving the way she squirmed, twisting her body so he could scratch her back and then her head then her sides and then all over again. Getting up to give his dad a wide grin, one that hadn't done in a long while, he asked, "What is she doing here?"

Noah chuckled. "She is here because she needs to finish healing." At Stiles' look confusion, Noah said, "She is still healing from her skirmish with some wild dog and needs to be kept away from the other K-9's at the station for now. She gets her stitches out later in the week."

Stiles had nearly forgotten about Luna's brush with the wraiths. She didn't have the large bandage on anymore, her fur still as sleek and soft as ever. The boys didn't know what kind of story Deaton would tell the station, but they trusted he would make it a good one. Stiles had asked about Luna a few times during the past two weeks and his dad said they were monitoring her. Trying to keep her away from the other dogs in case her stitches came out. It seemed the story Deaton gave was plausible to his dad. Stiles had to admit it was a good story. Although, he wondered if his dad thought so. Of course he wouldn't ask that though.

"So you brought her for a visit?" Danny asked.

The older Stilinski shook his head. "No I brought her to stay."

"What!?!" Both boys asked in unison.

"She is staying here for a while," Noah said hiding a smile. "She needs to take it easy and stay away from the other dogs. She is still on antibiotics and needs rest. As Sheriff, it is my job to help take care of our K-9 unit."

Stiles didn't care that that sounded like complete wolf shit. His dad may be acting Sheriff, but he has other deputies, lieutenants who oversee the K-9 unit. That is their sole job. They could have easily taken over Luna's care. Also it wasn't like Luna was the first dog to get hurt. A few of the other dogs have sustained injuries, one even a bullet wound, and still been housed at the station with the other dogs. So, he saw right through his dad's excuse, but he didn't dare question it. He was too happy to care.

He jumped up to hug his dad. Wrapping his arms tightly around the man's shoulder's. Noah chuckled warmly before returning the embrace.

That was how they later were in his room, sitting on his bed. His dad long since gone to bed to be up early tomorrow morning. They ate dinner together, one that Stiles cooked, Danny staying over for that. It was the fourth time in two weeks that has happened and Stiles was getting used to it. It reminded him of actually having a friend over, something he found that he missed. The whole time at dinner, Stiles thanked his dad for bringing Luna here, promising to look after her since he was out of school for the summer. Danny trying to hide his laughter and Noah rolling his eyes with a fond smile on his face. The rest of the evening consisted of talking about nothing, but what the teens were doing, which they lied about for the most part, except in Danny's case where he mentioned his work at his grandmother's shop. He also got a job at the local ball park, helping to plan out activities for younger kids over the summer while their parents worked. Stiles was surprised at that.

Eventually, his dad went to bed, bidding them both good night and telling Danny to head home soon or otherwise stay for the night. Now they were in his room, running through a spell book that Danny brought from his hidden stash. It was small, but it had some decent spells for beginners that Stiles had been practicing from. The book was in Danny's handwriting, obviously more of his own practice when he was younger, something that Stiles had yet to mention. He knew Danny was young when he uncovered his magic, but he was curious about what happened next. He didn't want to pry, knowing Danny would tell him in time, yet his curiosity was eating away at him. Luna laid down on the foot of the bed, fluffy tail curled around herself, ignoring them as they read. The German Shepherd looked right at home and Stiles hid a smile at that. He was very happy she was doing okay. 

"So are you going to tell me who your crush is, or was," Danny asked tentatively.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "This again."

Danny nodded his head like a kid in a candy shop. A wide smile on his face. When Stiles grimaced, keeping quiet, Danny persisted. "Can I guess?"

Stiles chuckled. "You would never guess right, but go ahead."

"Is it that bad?"

Stiles felt his small smile falter. Slowly he felt his head nod, even though his mind was telling him it wasn't bad, just impossible. "Yeah," he said.

"Someone I know from school?"

"Not from school."

"But I still know them," Danny said, his eyes searching Stiles' face like it held the answer. Maybe it did. Danny had paused for a moment, before his eyes widened in surprise even though Stiles didn't say anything. "Derek?"

Stiles stayed silent. No confirmation or rejection, but neither were needed. The look on his face apparently meant Danny knew he was right. "No way," the Hawaiian boy said, his mouth open.

Stiles' frown grew deeper, his hand running through Luna's pelt gently. "You see what I mean about it never happening."

"That is not what I said," Danny interjected.

"It doesn't matter. I don't want to talk about it. That's all it was, just a crush. Derek and I weren't-aren't-even friends."

Danny regarded him sadly. "Are you sure about that?"

"It's time to move on," Stiles said with a finality that made Danny close his mouth before he could say more. "It's what I'm good at."

Danny watched him for a few moments more, not saying a word. Stiles focused on Luna, who was falling asleep on his bed. Her soft black, white, and light tan fur running through his fingers, gleaming in the his overhead light in some spots. Her bandage was gone, but Stiles could feel the raised areas of his skin underneath that were still healing. The stitches he could still feel, but at least they would be gone soon. Stiles was glad she was here. He had to make a note to thank his dad profusely for bringing her here to finish healing. Maybe he could talk him into allowing Stiles to keep her. 

He really wanted to. The dog saved his life for Heaven's sake.

"So," Danny said, breaking the silence. "Are we going to practice some magic now?"

Stiles smiled, meeting Danny's warm eyes. The boy still had traces of sadness on his face, but otherwise was happy to change the subject. They moved onto the floor, positioning themselves across from each other. Stiles was practicing how to move and expand water. You could call it levitating it, but Danny said there was a difference. Levitating was just moving up and down, but using it to its full extant was harder. There were no spells for this. It was about feeling, a flow of motion. Stiles wasn't sure why Danny was getting him to practice without spells since he was still knew, but he trusted that Danny knew what he was doing. He was more knowledgeable in this than he was.

It was harder than it looked. His magic was easy to harness, but it was another issue to direct it to do what he wanted. When he would move the water from the cup between them, it would move, but when he would try to expand it or crush it into a ball, not much would happen. He had been practicing this for a few hours yesterday, only able to get the water to stretch into wider ball only a little. After Danny told him it was meant to be an extension of his magic, letting it flow as fluidly as water, that he finally was able to get it to move at all.

Tonight he was aiming to do the same, hopefully with better results. He was trying anyway.

 

 

*** * * * * * ***

  _He found himself walking in the woods. Stiles had no idea what part of the woods he was in. Everything looked the same after a while. Trees and grass and dirt. Fallen leaves covering most of the Preserve floor. He knew the Preserve when he saw it. It was always a shade darker under its canopy. Light breaking through every so often unless you were lucky enough to find a clearing somewhere. The woods always spoke of a wildness that you can only get from nature, but sometimes Stiles felt there was more to it._

_Even now he felt it. Like a gut feeling, a weight, telling him that the woods were not as thy seemed. He has been around enough supernatural stuff to know it. It made the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. It made a shiver run down his spine._

_It was like a current of electricity in the air, making his skin tingle. Stiles had no other way to describe it other than it was there._

_Moving in between the trees and over the brush, he walked. He didn’t know where he was going but he figured he should be keeping an eye out for the edge of the Preserve. Not to mention anything else that was here besides him._

_He knew he shouldn’t be here. Being the human he was, in his pajamas bottoms and a loose T-shirt, he wasn’t exactly equipped to go trudging through the woods. From what he could tell it was early dawn, pale light slowly making the dark blue and black recede in the sky. Stiles could see in the early morning light. The forest was covered in low amounts of fog, dusting the ground and horizon where Stiles looked, making the forest look paler then it really was._

_Stiles didn’t remember leaving his house, he didn’t remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembered was being in his room with Danny, practicing with a few spells Danny wanted to show him._

_Now he was in the middle of the woods, heading in who knows where, and he had no idea how he got there. Yet he kept walking, heading past trees that were beginning to look the same no matter how many times he looked again._

_It was a good thing it wasn’t winter or he’d be freezing right now. No shoes or socks on, his feet were dirty and he was stepping on leaves and twigs but otherwise he was fine. He had no phone in his pants pockets, not that he expected to have it with him. He wasn’t that lucky._

_The longer he walked, the more he felt his skin tingle and the more the warmth inside him grew. At least his magic was still present. He was comforted by that._

_The feeling of warmth was like a rock he wanted to grab onto. With each step he felt the warmth grow and the his hairs stand up straighter. He felt his heart quicken just a little and a buzzing enter his ears._

_It was almost like he felt when he didn’t take his Adderall. Too much energy, but the buzzing was new. It wasn’t a feeling he likes per se. He liked having energy to spare but if there was no way for him to expel said energy, he felt antsy almost twitchy._

_He walked faster, hoping to find his way out of the mass of trees. The buzzing never left his ears but it soon accompanied by a thumping sound. It sounded like a heartbeat. Stiles didn’t stop to think about it, assuming it was his own. He was getting more anxious by the moment. The sound of his own heart in his ears would be expected._

_Stiles stopped, hoping to get his barings and perhaps see something, anything to point him in the right direction. This is where a werewolf would come in handy. With their powerful senses they would be able to help. Hell any of Stiles friends would help. That was if he had friends._

_He had Danny. Maybe not the wolves but he did have Danny who had magic himself. Danny could find him. He had to trust that. Stiles wasn’t giving up yet but at least he knew someone else would be able to find him. Someone other than his dad._

_It was sad that only two people would come after him, but it was better than none._

_He thumping in his ears got louder, making him worry. He never heard his heart beat that loud before nor that hard. The hairs on his neck and arms were still raised, static filled the air. He looked around the dreary woods looking for the source of the sound. It couldn’t be his heart. If not for the source then maybe a way out._

_Twisting left and right, his eyes scanning every piece of horizon he can, passing the trees, buches and overgrowth. The warmth in his chest expanded, flooding his whole body making him shiver. His skin broke out into goose bumps and his breathing came quicker like his heart beat._

_When he turned around he noticed a large tree stump, easily the length of his whole body. He didn’t recall seeing that before. It wasn’t there a moment ago. Stiles could have sworn that stump was not there._

_He was about to bypass it altogether, but something about that stump kept his gaze. There was nothing special about its appearance, it was an old tree stump. It would have been glorious and huge if it were still alive, but Stiles couldn’t see anything else to make it stand out._

_Yet his body kept getting closer to it. His steps slow and hesitant but still closer. The closer he got, the bigger the stump seemed to get. He also noticed the buzzing getting louder, the thumping did too. It was deafening._

_He wanted to turn around and run. He wanted to get out of there. Curl up in his bed and pretend he never left._

_His body seemed to have another idea. He felt his right arm rise, his hand outstretched and pointing towards the tree stump. He watched in horror as his body failed to respond to his brain. It was like he was a puppet or like he was sleep walking, not actually in control of his limbs._

_With each passing second the sounds plagued his ears drowning out everything else. His magic was like a fireball inside him, roaring at him, yet he couldn’t tell if it was because of his emotions or something else. He was afraid but he didn’t know why. Why was he afraid? Why was he in the woods? Why was he trying to touch a long dead tree stump?_

_He braces himself when his hand is nearly a few centimeters from touching it, expecting something bad to happen. Something has to right? Turns out, he never makes contact, because he is then thrown back off his feet._

_He hits the ground hard, sliding across picking up dead leaves, twigs, and dirt. The wind is knocked out of him, his vision suddenly brighter with white around the edges._

_He spit out the dirt that sprayed in his mouth, wiping his hand over his eyes to clear them. Gaining his breath back, he sat back up only to be met with something that made his blood run cold._

_“Stiles.”_

_The one word sent his body convulsing with shivers. He looked around expecting to see someone, only to see the stump._

_He didn’t know why, but he crept closer to the stump, dragging his body over the ground to do so. If he was being watched, static closer to the ground might help hide him. The brush and trees might help him. Slowly, he pulled himself closer, but when he was a foot away, he was thrown back again. This time against another tree._

_He landed in a heap against the smaller trees base. He gulped I’m breaths. His eyes felt wide like saucers as he looked for around. Still seeing nothing._

_”Stiles.”_

_The voice came again. Like chill on the wind, terse and emotionless. It made Stiles go rigid. He tried desperately to see who was near to no avail._

_“Who’s there? Who are you?” He called out to the open air. Obviously he got nothing in response._

_He scrambled to his feet ignoring the pounding in his shoulder. He was going to have a bruise. He backed up only to get jerked back feeling like a tight grip was suddenly on his around his upper arm. He landed on his front, his face nearly plummeting into the dirt. He heard something across the wind, like a whisper. But he couldn’t tell what it was if it was anything at all._

_He pushed back up onto his feet, his hands clenched into fists. He reached for his magic, the familiar warmth providing any semblance of comfort it could. Stiles didn’t care if he was alone, he didn’t care if he was human. Whatever was out there, he would fight if he had to._

_”Who are you!”_

_His voice echoed into the woods, bouncing off every surface to reach his ears again. Yet again no answer._

_Instead, the woods darkened. The place going darker. It was odd because the sky was still pale above, but the woods were goin black like a blanket of black shadow was engulfing it. Stiles felt his heart drop and his panic rise, but he kept firmly still. His magic giving him strength, swirling inside him, ready to help him._

_Only he wasn’t ready for what came_ _next._

_”Mieczyslaw.”_

_That sent Stiles to a near panic attack. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it would burst from his chest cavity. His sweat turned cold and his breathing stopped in his throat._

_His mind raced with the single word, the single name. No one knew his name. Not his real name. No one but his dad, Scott, the hospital, and some of his teachers. Hell sven the school changed his name on the system to Stiles. It made it easier._

_No one spoke his name. No one could. Everyone who ever tried got it so wrong it was near laughable. But this time, whoever this was, said it perfectly._

_As the shadow over the woods got darker, the sky seemed to get lighter. It made Stiles wish he could fly. Fly away from his troubles, fly from the ground where all danger seemed to be lurking._

_He turner and ran, running for who knows what but he didn’t care. He had to get away. Away from that stump. Away from the Preserve. Away from that voice. He pushed himself, feeling the warmth in his body drift to his legs, pushing him, flooding him and making him go faster. His magic was helping him and Stiles was grateful. He poured his emotions into his Spark letting it fuel his magic, forcing it to help him go further and faster._

_The trees blurred by him and he kicked up dirt, leaves, and dust in his wake. He didn’t care where he wasn’t going so long as it was away from who was calling him._

_“Mieczyslaw.”_

_He beard again. The voice grating on his nerves. It seemed so close yet far enough that it was like an echo. He pushed himself to go further, ducking his head to speed up. Stiles has never been graceful in his movements. Anyone who saw him would think Stiles’ body was replaced with another one and his head was sitting on its shoulders. He didn’t care, he wanted to keep his head on his shoulders thank you._

_“Stiles. Stiles."_

_it came again. This time quicker. He risked looking behind him, meeting nothing but darkness, the forest blending away. As he passed the forest floor below as the trees nearby, they all turned black and fell into nothingness behind him._

_Turnign back around, he lost his footing and then he was falling._

_He fell and fell. He tried to scream but had no voice. It was a silent panic, pressing in on him and his panic rose. There was no hole above him, there was nothing but the rush of air around him and the feeling of his stomach in his throat as gravity took him into nothing._

_“Stiles!”_

_No, he had to get away from that. It couldn’t follow him. He was falling, darkness bleeding around him. There was no light, nothing but black. He couldn’t see his hand in front of him. He saw nothing._

_He felt cold and like he was shivering. It was rocking through his body, shaking him as he fell._

_“Stiles! Stiles! STILES!”_

_He felt a large force slam into face, stinging making tears come to his eyes. He felt his eyes close. The stinging spread over his cheek and face. Suddenly the falling sensation stopped and air around him settled. Stiles opened his eyes to be met by a sight he was near ready to burst into tears over._

"Danny," he choked out. 

“Oh thank God,” the boy said sitting back on his heels a bit. There was some thudding motions happening around it. Stiles just barely caught sight of some books falling back onto his desk before Danny moved.

He was half on top of Stiles, his hands gripping his upper arms tightly, his face contorted into worry and fear, followed slowly by relief with each breath Stiles took. 

Stiles then took notice of his room, it was a disaster. Well it always was but this time it looked like someone had come through in desperate search of something. Books were off the shelves, his clothes were scattered, picture frames knocked over or joining the clothes on the floor. Sitting up he took in the room, Luna beside them at the foot of the bed, her head nuzzling into his legs. Her whines were pitiful and it made Stiles’ heart ache. 

Danny looked just as bad. He was wide eyes, pale, sweat was on his brow. His eyes were dark with emotions that Stiles couldn’t identify quick enough.

”What happened,” Stiles asked softly, his voice a whisper. 

"Stiles," Danny said, his dark brown eyes blown into saucers. "Your eyes."

Stiles felt his stomach drop. What was he talking about?

He had a nightmare. He deduced that after he woke up. His nightmares have always been vivid, but this one was different. It felt real. Everything felt as real as Danny's hands on his skin now. The warmth from Danny's hands made no effort to stifle the shiver than ran through him at the thought of his dream. He didn't understand it. His nightmares were always his subconscious fears and sometimes his real ones playing out in his mind. Often times, those fears went unspoken and it was his nightmares where they manifested. So what was this nightmare about?

Quickly getting up from the bed, shifting Luna's head off him and moving away from Danny, he ran to his bathroom across the hall. He vaguely saw his dad's door closed, causing him to silently send up a prayer that his dad had not heard anything, praying he was fast asleep. Turning on the light to look in the mirror. When he caught his reflection, he couldn't look away. He looked the same, his skin was fair, his hair ruffled from sleep, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. Everything was familiar until he saw his eyes.

They were not the honey brown he was used to. They were not his mother's eyes. Instead they were amber, aglow with a hidden fire behind their depths. As he stared, they shimmered and swirled for a moment more, the color as beautiful as it was mesmerizing. He could make out flecks of gold, red, honey, and brown in their depths. Like the sun shining through rubies and topaz. It took his breath away.

When Danny came up behind him, the shimmering stopped, slowly returning the orbs back to normal. 

Danny's face was the same mixture of emotions, but he had a hint of a smile on his face, completely awestruck like Stiles was. Danny didn't need to ask, because Stiles had no answer. He didn't understand what his eyes meant. The only thing he could blame the sudden display on was his magic. He felt it beneath his skin, circling and brushing underneath, much like the glow that was behind his eyes a few second prior. Whether it was true, he was not sure. It had to be the only explanation, right?

"I-I don't understand," he said softly to himself in the mirror.

Danny nodded. He stepped closer, now only a foot behind Stiles. "Me either," he said. "But I think it is time to talk to someone who might."

Stiles swallowed hard, never taking his sight from his eyes. He half expected them to start glowing again. First the mishap at Chris', then Lydia and Jackson, the nightmare, and now his eyes taking a new look. Could this day get any weirder?

The answer to that question was yes.

When Stiles didn't answer, Danny laid a hand on his back over his right shoulder blade. It was a light touch, but it caused Stiles to hiss in pain. At his reaction Danny removed his hand. Stiles saw the other boys eyebrows rise, looking at his own hand like it offended him. Stiles turned before reaching down to pull up his shirt. He didn't want to put his scars on display for Danny, but it wasn't like the boy hadn't seen what they looked like before they healed. Turning to the left, he angled his shoulder towards the mirror, pulling up the shirt just enough to look at his shoulder.

"What the hell," he gasped.

The pale skin was red, purple starting to show as a large bruise was forming. It was forming fast because there was no way in hell Stiles went to sleep with it. Yet there it was staring at them both in the face. Red and purple with a slight hint of blue right over his shoulder blade. The skin was raised a little, a welt underneath, like he hit something very hard. Hard enough to leave behind a bruised bump.

He couldn't think of how he got it, the day's events rather docile. Not even during the training with Chris did he experience the kind of pain he would suffered to get this. So where did it come from? It wasn't until he thought through the rest of the day did he remember the dream. He remembered the woods, the trees, that weird stump. He remembered the chilling voice, the one who knew his name, calling out to him. He recalled the fear that shook through him. With that he also got reminded of being tossed around like a rag doll.

The tree he hit. The one he was thrown back against. It hurt even then. He hit his back then too, in the same area the bruise was currently forming. But that was impossible, wasn't it? Nightmares don't give you bruises. Nightmares can't physically hurt you. The look on Danny's face was equal to his own. Wide eyes and mouth agape. The difference was that Stiles was the one slowly putting the pieces together. The evidence was clear on his skin. 

His eyes and the chaos of his room were good points, but this was even more so. He knew Danny was right. Stiles needed to talk to someone and there was only one person in town he could speak to about this. He dreaded it though. He feared not getting answers or not getting good ones. He was scared already. He could see it and now so could Danny.

"We go tomorrow," he said quietly. Danny nodded, his gaze still on Stiles' shoulder. Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat, before lowering his shirt. "I want to know what is happening to me."


	9. Not Quite What it Seems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry ya'll I know I'm a day late from my normal update. It took a bit of time to reorganize this chapter since I kept bouncing back and forth lol. I hope you all like this new chapter. We see more of the budding friendship of Stiles and Danny, more of our cryptic vet, and a seeming unlucky strawberry blonde. Stiles also learned some very important lessons to remember in the future. As always, I thank you all for your love, comments, and support. I write this for all of you and also myself because I can't stop. This is too much fun and there is a lot more to come. I hope you enjoy!!!

“Stiles, to what do I owe this pleasure,” Deaton asked as he and Danny had entered the clinic. Thankfully it seemed to be a slow day or they just missed the crowd because the place wasn’t empty and it meant no onlookers. 

Deaton nodded his head to Danny in hello, Danny doing much of the same. It striked a thought in Stiles that the two must have had a long history. Stiles has only known the mocha colored man for two years, ever since Scott started to work for him. It wasn’t until the whole supernatural twist that he came to see the man for what he really was. 

Speaking of which, he clearly didn’t know enough.

"We have a problem.” Stiles said without pleasantries, already heading into the back in the first exam room her came to. The other two were following without delay, Danny looking worried, but Deaton looked a little bemused and calm as always.

”Rather _he_ has a problem,” Danny muttered. Stiles shot him a glare, but it lacked any heat. Danny wasn’t wrong. 

“Oh,” Deaton asked eyeing Stiles with two wise eyes.

Stiles could feel himself fidget under the vet’s state. Aside from the fact he didn’t want to be here, he also didn’t like how the man always was so cryptic. He still hasn’t forgiven the man for what he helped Scott do. Accidentally making Stiles the fallout guy who lost a pack and his best friend. Not to mention being beaten by the man he hoped to stop. He was the patsy and Deaton inadvertently had a hand in that. 

“What do you know about sleep walking,” Stiles asked quickly. 

The confusion on Deaton's face was priceless. It was the first time he had seen true emotion other than his usual contentedness. Aside from glimpses here and there this was full blown and for the world to see. 

Danny sighed beside him. “Stiles I told you on the way over here, you were not sleep walking.”

"Then how do you explain my nightmare,” Stiles asked arching his eyebrows.

"How do you explain waking up in your room which you never left?”

Deaton cleared his throat, breaking them both from their little debate. "Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

They told the man everything. Well almost everything. They didn't mention his eyes glowing or the floating objects that Danny witnessed, at least not yet. Stiles wanted to keep it to themselves at least for now, but Danny insisted. They just had to work their way up to it and who knows if Deaton will catch on to and ask them before they could. Stranger things have happened. Stiles told his side of things, going over the nightmare, the strange tree stump, the voice that called out to him by his real name.

"What is you real name," Danny had asked interrupting his story.

"I am not telling you so you can hold that over my head for the rest of my life" Stiles said, earning him a pout from Danny.

Rolling his eyes in with a smile, he continued. He mentioned the thumping, like a heartbeat, and then being thrown around like a rag doll which got a surprised look from Deaton. He ended with falling down, everything being completely black, then Danny waking him up in his room and finding the large bruise. He never mentioned where it was just that he had it. Danny started his side, throwing in what he observed while Stiles was ‘not’ sleep walking. He said he heard Stiles whimper, cry out at times, grimace in pain, tossing and turning.

Stiles hoped to get a semblance of what Deaton would say or at least guess after they finished, before telling him about his eyes and the floating of his possessions. If the former Emissary could actually gave straight forward answers.

“Can I see this bruise on your shoulder,” Deaton asked after a few moments of processing.

"How did-"

He could have sworn he never said where it was. Deaton, however, just eyes him knowingly. With a sigh he rolled up his shirt, moving his arm out of the sleeve gingerly to show the stinging bruise. 

It was worse than last night now. Fully developed and red and purple and blue. Raised in the center like he got hit with a baseball, making it form a lump that shot a sharp stab of pain through his shoulder and arm. Deaton gently prodded on the sensitive area making Stiles grunt in pain. Taking his hand back Deaton hummed before moving away, heading to his cabinets to pull out supplies. A tray with a small spatula, several vials and beakers of things Stiles couldn’t make out and a little mixing bowl. 

“So what do you make of this,” Stiles said after giving more than enough time for silence. 

Deaton didn’t answer at first, putting a few contents into the bowl before mixing it with the spatula and then going back to putting in something else. 

"Well there could be a number of explanations.” The man said earning him an eye roll that Stiles was afraid they would roll back into his head. Of course the man didn’t see it. “You mentioned something about a stump,” Deaton said, looking away from him. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said dismissively. “It must have been cut down a long time ago.”

”Can you describe it to me,” the vet asked seriously looking at him now. 

Taken aback by the question he recited his memory of the stump. “It was large, easily, as wide as my height. Possibly oak or ash wood. It had a crack in it’s middle extending to it's sides, most likely from the years of elemental exposure.”

"Have you ever seen this tree before?” Danny asked. 

“Um no,” Stiles said. “I don’t often go looking for stumps in the woods. And it was a nightmare. Just some random, rather weird detail.”

”I don’t think it was random,” Deaton said with a small shake of his head. 

Stiles didn’t miss the way Deaton and Danny looked at one another. Serious expressions, marked with hard lines. Their eyes were mirroring concern and what looked like wonder. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Did you touch this stump," the vet asked him. 

Stiles was curious about that question. What would it matter? Even if he did, it's not like it would mean anything. _Oh my, I touched a tree stump, shocking,_ he thought. Yet at the still rigid expressions on their faces, he thought better of making a joke about it. He still couldn't help but think about what the big deal was. It was all a dream, a nightmare. What was the significance of a some random tree stump?

"No," Stiles said slowly, eyeing them both, watching as their expressions changed from serious to minutely disappointed and a little relieved. Danny was nodding his head and Deaton was going back to mixing his herbs into a cream. Stiles could practically feel the stimulation in the air, the tenseness at the conversation and he couldn't take it anymore. "What are you both not telling me?"

The silence that fell on the room was deafening. All he could hear was the clink of the utensils as Deaton mixed and crushed his herbs together. The man still had his back to him and Danny was purposely avoiding his eyes. 

"Well?" He raised his voice in impatience.

"It is nothing to be alarmed about," Deaton said finally, looking at him calmly. "I believed you might have come close to an old sacred place."

"Sacred place," Stiles said, enunciating each word slowly, like he was talking to a toddler.

"Correct," Deaton said unfazed. "Beacon Hills once had a place, marked by a tree that was said to be very spiritual, but it was lost and became hidden a long time ago."

"Uh huh." Stiles was flabbergasted by that bit of information. He honestly didn't expect to hear about a tree that was said to be...spiritual. He turned to Danny, looking at his friend, seeing him look a little uneasy. "You believe this too?"

Danny nodded. "It has been mentioned in books before. Known to supernaturals long ago."

"Known how?"

"Druids use such places for spiritual guidance, rituals, even to seek clearer understanding in spells. In Druid circles and even others, this special place would be symbolized as a seat of power," Deaton said, bringing his finished cream tray over to the counter. To Stiles it looked more yellow than white, but he could smell honey and witch hazel from it. "This power was pure in nature, a place where one could feel a deeper connection to the Earth if they wanted to."

Stiles took all of that in for a couple moments before speaking again. Deaton started to rub some of the cream on his shoulder, making him hiss in pain slightly, before settling again. It was cool on his skin, dulling the ache in his shoulder a bit as Deaton worked as diligently and as gently as possible. 

"So you think I might have stumbled across this place in my nightmare?"

Deaton sighed heavily, his eyebrows furrowing just a bit. "I am not sure. As I am also not sure this was a nightmare. Nightmares can be violent and are often manifestations of our fears and insecurities, but it is quite rare for them to be anything else. Especially present as places you have never been to."

"Well I have always defied the odds in unfavorable ways," Stiles muttered.

Deaton gave a small smile. "While it may be nothing, I strongly suggest in letting me know if it happens again."

Stiles wanted to object to that, but a part of him didn't want to. Hell he had already come here asking for answers and while he didn't have all of them, he had a few. It was more than he came here with. It was odd that he would leave Deaton's clinic for the first time with less questions than answers this time. 

"What about your eyes," Danny said quickly, before immediately closing his mouth, his eyes going wide as he stared at Stiles. Stiles gave him a glare. He was hoping to explore his eyes, later, possibly seeing if it would happen again. Now the cat was out of the bag and he could see how it peaked Deaton's interest.

"Beg your pardon," the former Emissary asked, looking at both boys. "Did your eyes get hurt," he asked. Moving to look at Stiles' eyes, scrutinizing, looking between the both of them for any signs of distress. Of course all he would find would be exhaustion. Stiles averted his gaze, trying to not laugh at Deaton's concerned inspection.

"No," he began. "It was nothing like that. It was after I woke up. Danny said my eyes were different when I woke up." At Deaton's cocked eyebrow, Stiles swallowed hard before he finished a little unsure. "My eyes, they...um...they seemed to glow.”

Deaton was quiet for a moment, plenty of heartbeats to count. His face was his usual mask and Stiles could only guess what he was thinking. “I see. Just out of curiosity, were you using magic?” 

“I don’t think so, maybe.”

”You were.” Danny said not looking at either of them but at the floor. “Your room, it was like the Conjuring in there. The picture frames, books, some clothes, they were floating.”

"Floating?" Deaton had asked.

"Yes. A good few feet in some cases." Danny said raising his hand to show how high some things were floating in example. "When I woke up after hearing him in his sleep, I saw it. I had a sock hovering over my face.”

"That’s impossible. Are you sure that wasn’t you or just you being dazed from sleep," Stiles said trying to play it off. He still wasn't sure of what he saw when he woke up. The falling objects could have been anything. 

"Stiles, be serious." Danny said in minor annoyance. "Of course it wasn’t me. I can levitate things, but to a certain degree and never that many things at once. My magic doesn’t work that way.”

"What do you mean?"

"I’m a Hedge Witch remember," he muttered.

"No, no I don’t since you didn’t explain what that meant," Stiles said with a minor flail of his arms. 

"It means that my magic is...not the same." Danny looked like he was struggling for words. He tone was getting lower and he stopped looking at Stiles, which was odd. "It only gets me so far.”

"That is not all,” Deaton said, speaking up after a few moments of being silent, with a cocked eyebrow. 

“That is not the point.” Danny said between his teeth glaring at the man.

"What does that mean? What am I missing here,” stiles asked looking between the two.

"Not now.” Danny said waving his hand in his direction. 

Deaton stepped into Stiles' line of sight of Danny positioning his body just so, giving him a different angle to Stiles’ bruise. Gritting his teeth, he turned away. The careful hands of the vet running softly over his shoulder, applying the cream in a few more spots before Deaton went back to the counter. Stiles sneaked a glance at Danny. 

The other boy wasn’t looking at him. His face was turned down staring at the floor. His arms crossed, a frown line on his forehead. It was the picture of sadness or maybe guilt. Stiles didn’t understand it. What could Danny feel guilty or sad about? What was it about his magic or being a Hedge Witch, as he called it, that he didn’t want to tell him?

When Deaton came back, holding a small ice pack in his hand, he put it gingerly in the sore spot. The cold felt good and it made Stiles relax his shoulders just a bit. Although all of this was a little unnecessary, he was not going to complain. It felt too good to complain.

"Why don’t you just heal me,” Stiles asked turning his head to look at Deaton. “You know, like you did that...that night.”

He hated bringing up that dreadful night, when everything had gone to shit and he was left in the dust, bleeding out, broken, and alone. He hated the memories it brought to him, almost like on command. He couldn’t avoid it. No matter what he wished for, he couldn’t change it. Deaton seemed momentarily confused about his question before sighing out a breath.

“I never healed you that night.”

"What?”

"I didn’t heal you that night, Stiles,” the man said slowly shaking his head. “I bandaged you up after cleaning your wounds and stitched what I could to help them. I never healed you.”

Stiles felt his head shake and his eyebrows furrow. “No. They were a lot worse before you came, before I woke up. I remember all the bruises, a cracked rib at least. It was hard to breathe and I had a mild concussion.”

Deaton looked at Stiles a little worried for a moment before his eyes looked past him over his shoulder, then back at him. “That was not my doing.”

Stiles felt his jaw drop and his heart stutter. He looked over his shoulder at Danny, the boy who had gone suspiciously quiet. Who kept his eyes down, arms crossed, and was squeezing his tricep muscles in succession nervously. 

Stiles thought back to that night. He had passed out, that he remembered but after was dark and fuzzy. He remembered when he woke up to Danny and then talking with Deaton. Danny with a light sheen of sweat on his brow, his dark eyes tired, skin strangely a bit paler than normal. He didn’t think anything of it then. He didn’t even notice, too wrapped up in his own injuries to notice. If he had registered these hints, he might have thought it was to do with the late night and dealing with a person who was badly injured and passed out.

"It was you.” He had whispered into the air between them. 

Danny still had the sad, guilty look on his face. He refused to meet Stiles’ eyes. Stepping away from the slab he was leaning against, he walked over to Danny, urging him to look at him. Still Danny wouldn't. He was biting his lip, rubbing at his arms like a kid who just got caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

Why didn’t he say anything, Stiles thought. Why did he keep this from him?

But then he thought about it. Stiles didn’t know about his magic then. It made sense to not tell him. He could understand why he would hide it from him. But then Stiles found out about it in the woods with the wraiths. When Danny protected him, he found out then. So why did he not share what happened that night after his magic was revealed?

Did this have to do with his magic and how it was different? Did this have to deal with Danny being a witch? Despite all his questions, Stiles did the only thing he felt was right, what he wanted to do in that moment.

He hugged Danny. 

He wrapped his arms around the other boy, ignoring the jolt of pain in his shoulder and squeezed. Danny was the first person he willingly touched, who didn’t coerce him, or touch him first, nor was he doing any training. He didn’t do it as an act of comfort for himself, but for Danny. 

His friend realized this too. He stood there for a few seconds, stunned, and Stiles could practically feel the gears in Danny’s head turning as he put the pieces of what was happening together. Slowly, Danny’s arms came around his sides, hugging him back, careful of his shoulder. It was tentative, almost like he was giving Stiles time to adjust and not spook him in case he didn’t want the contact anymore. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said resting his chin on Danny’s shoulder. 

He half expected there to be flashes of Grant or Gerard running through his head. He thought his subconscious would shock him into thinking Danny’s hands were Grant's on his back. But it never happened. It was a surprise, but a pleasant one at that. It was the first hug he had gotten from anyone besides his dad, who he knew would never hurt him. The first embrace from anyone that wasn’t his dad or Scott. He knew this was never going happen again with Scott. Even though it saddened him and he would miss it, it made him feel better, when Danny gave him a little squeeze, hoping to give reassurance. So for a few moments, he let himself have this. 

With a final pat on Danny’s back they split up. Danny’s face was brighter, a small smile on his face. 

“Don’t think this conversation is over though,” Stiles said pointedly. 

Danny only grinned. But nodded his head. 

“Anyways,” He said returning to Deaton who had a knowing look on his face. “What now?”

Deaton shrugged. “Given the new information, I am not sure.”

"Shocker,” Stiles muttered under his breath. Danny elbowed him in his side gently beside him. “So you have no information to help with this? Nothing at all?”

"I am not sure what this all means. But I have a few suspicions.” The man said, cleaning up his supplies to put them in the sink across the room.

"Care to share with the rest of the class," Stiles asked in sarcasm.

"You will know when I know for certain. I need to confer with a few sources first before I can give you any more definitive answers." Stiles figured that was the best he would get out of the man. Turning to Danny, he gave slight roll of his eyes, making Danny smirk before they turned to leave. "But," Deaton said, making them stop in their exit, "that does not mean you cannot help me look for answers."

"What," Stiles asked, while Danny looked on in confusion.

Deaton spread his arms out for gesture that said why not. "I have books that I am not using. You are welcome to them. If you find anything that is to your liking you can feel free to learn from it."

"Are you...offering to teach me?" Stiles asked in stunned silence.

"I am merely asking for assistance in looking for potential answers to what your nightmare might mean. If it means you learn some things along the way, that is just a coincidence," Deaton said in a vague manner, like he couldn't care one way or the other. Stiles didn't miss the small twitch of his lips though.

"I..." Stiles didn't know what to say to that. On the one hand, he didn't trust the man, but on the other he wanted to learn. He wanted to hone his magical skills. He learned that he had abilities, most could only dream of, so he wouldn't be in his right mind to turn down help. At the very least he would learn to control his magic and do a few spells along the way. 

He was learning from Danny. He had learned a lot from the other boy, but even Danny had said once that his material were limited. Maybe Deaton had some things Danny did not. Maybe they could learn something new together. It wasn't a terrible idea, although Stiles was not sure how the other boy would like it. Sneaking a peak at his friend, Danny was looking at the ground, almost seeming to find something interesting to catch his eye.

Before he could answer though, he stopped. In that moment, he heard what shocked him out his deliberation. He heard a scream. And it shook him.

"Do you hear that," he asked.

"Hear what," Danny said looking at him.

His eyes turned towards the small windows on the brick wall, he listened, trying to hear the direction it was coming. It sounded like it was far away, yet for some reason it felt close. It was like his ears was only picking up the trace of it's pitch, but his body could feel it. His magic welled up in him, responding to him, as listened to the sound. He didn't know why he reached for his magic, just that he felt like he needed to. The flame burning brighter as he listened, heating him up and pulsing in time with his heart beat. The sound lasted for a few seconds, but they felt longer, like a stretch of time, slowing it down, until the the scream ended.

"Stiles," Deaton asked curiously, his eyes focusing on Stiles' face.

Even after the scream ended, his magic was still alight under his skin. He couldn't help it. He felt like he needed it. He know what he heard. It was a call. A call for what. he couldn't say. He couldn't even tell you what the call was for other than the fact that he could feel it. It was a scream of fear. No matter how close or far it was, he heard it. He felt it like a live wire, electrifying him, jolting through his nerves, sending a chill down his spine.

It was when he was about to tell the other two men what he thought he heard that his phone rang. Pulling it out of his pocket he barely glanced at it before he answered it. 

“Hello,” he said, ignoring the curious looks of Danny and Deaton.

“Stiles.”

“Lydia,” he asked into the speaker.

”I need your help.” 

 

*** * * * * * ***

Lydia didn’t understand it. She felt herself being pulled. Like an invisible tether was around her chest, guiding her to who knows where. If you had asked her where she was or where she had been, she probably wouldn't have been able to tell you. All she knew was that she to go somewhere. Following an invisible path that led her from street to street. 

She didn't care about where she was or about the time. All she cared about was following that pull.

It was a good thing it was early morning. It was still fairly dark out, but growing lighter with each passing minute. Lydia walked on the sidewalks, keeping her close to the shadows, making it harder for people to see her. Her feet in her slippers, a light rope around her torso, covering her pajamas. With each step she drew closer. Closer to whatever her destination was. She felt not just a pull around her body, but a whisper in her ears. The longer she walked, the louder the whisper became. There were no words to make out, just a constant stream of white noise, too jumbled and fast for her to make it out. 

Lydia kept going, not paying attention to anything or anyone. Left and right, she turned down streets and paths, getting deeper into town. It wasn't until she came to the YMCA and the community pool that she stopped. Looking at the pool from the sidewalk, there was nothing special about it. The water blueish green from the yellow lights under the surface of the water. The place deserted since it was early morning. Reclining chairs spaced out around the fence that Lydia stood at, separating the pool from the sidewalk. The concrete a pale tan in the morning light. There was nothing here.

The whispers seemed to disagree. They were incessant, like streams of voices on the wind. No words that made sense. It was like she had a large crowd in ear canal that were all talking at once. Yet she was the only one around. She felt a chill run up her spine as she listened. Each whisper seeming to want to get her attention, trying to tell her something. The pull in her chest was still present, but not accompanied by a feeling that she couldn't describe. 

It was like a rising in her chest. Her stomach felt like it was dropping and her skin had goosebumps.

Something was Urging her to keep going, coaxing her to come closer. She didn't even think as she opened the gate, letting herself in. Her eyes never left the pool. The tranquil waters dipping and swaying to the light breeze. But that wasn't the reason she couldn't stop staring. The closer she got, the more a dark figure came into view bobbing on the surface of the water like a buoy. Coming up next to pool's edge she felt her breath hitch in her throat at the sight. It was a body.

A man, floating face down, with water lapping at his lifeless form. The rise in her chest got worse, like a burning feeling, the urge to do _something_. There were no words for it, just the urge. The voices got even louder after she laid eyes on the body.

Out of the corner of her vision, she saw something stream on the water's surface. Looking at it, it looked like red dye. Floating on the water before dispersing apart, mixing into the blue. The longer she watched, the more the red seemed to get more prominent, changing a small part of the pool water purple before fading back to blue in the larger body of water left untouched. The purple water drifted over to the body, the lights from the pool making it darker. Lydia bent down to look closer, the smell of chlorine and concrete in her nose. The red dye drifting like it was ink.

It didn't concern her that red should not be in a pool, but her curiosity was telling her find out where it was coming from. The entire time, her ears were screaming from the whispers. There was nothing else she could hear. Turning towards the edge of the pool beside where she stood, she saw more red. Thick and brighter than it was in the water. It was dripping into the water, flowing down over the concrete to inch over the plaster and into the cool liquid. She followed the red liquid, up the concrete to the chair next nearby. It was the lifeguard chair, standing tall overhead. She saw the scarlet dripping onto the concrete in dots and the webbing of it criss-cross and flow over the white plastic legs. 

She felt that urge grow, like a balloon ready to burst. She didn't even realized she was sucking in a breath. Lydia saw nothing else but the dark red as it crept up higher onto the seat. The sight above her making her eyes go wide into saucers.

The horrible, red sight of another body. A man with dark hair, unseeing eyes, and blood running out of his mouth and a large hole in his chest. She couldn’t help it, she couldn’t prevent it if she wanted. The whispers ceasing in an instant. The breath she didn't realize she took was not aching in her chest. That urge full blown, it was either release it or bite off her tongue. She did the only thing that seemed...logical, almost instinctual. 

She screamed.

Long and hard, she wailed. It lasted only a few seconds, but they felt longer. Winded and drained, she felt the tears in her eyes. Her body was shaking, whether from the sight or the force of the scream, she didn't know. Pulling her phone from her robe pocket, she called a number. Not bothering to look at the name. It was the only name she could think of at the moment.

He answered on the first ring. "Hello?"

She let out a shaking breath, tears now rolling down her cheeks freely. "Stiles." Ignoring her name from his side, she continued, "I need your help."

 

*** * * * * * ***

A few days passed after what happened with Lydia. He was still running through that night trying to understand what happened. When Jackson had come to pick her up, she was shaken. Stiles had found her a the local community pool next to YMCA. She looked nearly catatonic, but when he crept closer to her, calling out her name she rushed over to him, wrapping her arms around him.

She had tear streaks down her cheeks and her skin felt cold. She was in her pajamas and a fuzzy robe. It wasn't cold outside, but apparently it did nothing for her skin or the shaking. He didn’t understand what was going on until he looked around and found the two bodies one on the lifeguard seat, the other in the pool. Blood dripping down the pale skin, and running further down over the seat and onto the concrete. Even the pool was getting a taste of the scarlet liquid.

Stiles was so surprised by the seen that he too stopped and stared for a moment before returning to consoling the strawberry blonde in his arms. He didn't flinch away from her touch, which was comforting in a way, but it did nothing to erase the gruesome sight before them. Danny stayed behind at his Jeep, a little ways down the street, not wanting to get out to jostle Lydia further by having too many people around her. 

It took a good ten minutes to get her to calm down enough to talk to him. She told him what happened and how she had next to no memory of getting there or why she was there. She just felt like it was fugue state, heading somewhere just to be heading somewhere, conscious of what was around her, but never aware of it. She never expected this. She mentioned this pull, drive to follow something, but couldn't tell what. 

Stiles had called his dad, telling him that he and Lydia had been out, and found the bodies when they noticed the guy in the seat from the street. 

Obviously he couldn’t tell his dad the truth. He would worry about the details later. Right now he was worried about the trembling girl next to him, her eyes looking back and forth between the ground and the bodies. Stiles had wanted to ask her more questions, but right then she looked like she wasn’t willing to speak. After giving a statement to a deputy that arrived with his dad, Noah sent them both away. The paramedics coming as Stiles was talking to the deputy.

Stiles took Lydia’s phone to send a message to Jackson. He figured the boy wouldn't answer if it was him calling, not to mention he didn't have Jackson's number.

The jock had arrived in a matter of minutes. His silver Porsche faintly glowing in early morning light. As they had waited, the sun was breaking over the horizon. Now making it a new day and the sky yellow and blue. At the sight of his girlfriend sitting on the curb stunned into silence, he rushed over to her and wrapped an arm around her, glaring daggers at Stiles like it had been all his fault. 

Stiles explained as best he could at what happened but even he didn’t have the whole story. So he gave only what he could. Jackson looked like he didn’t want to believe Stiles and frankly Stiles couldn’t care. He was tired and it was early morning. He wanted to head back to bed. After being up before dawn to get to Deaton’s he didn’t want to stay up any later than he had to.

He didn’t miss the faint murmur from Jackson as the boy gave him a funny look from behind his lashes. “Why does he smell like Danny?”

He was clearly speaking to Lydia, but she was too busy lost in her own mind to notice. Stiles had taken that as he moment to leave. He and Danny drove off a few moments later, Stiles telling him everything. Since that night, Stiles hadn't heard anything from Lydia or Jackson. He didn't expect to hear anything from Jackson, but he did think Lydia would try and make contact. She was the one to call him when she could have called Jackson.

That night, he didn't think about what he would find when she called. He just left, hurrying out of Deaton's with Danny in tow. So it was safe to say he never expected two bodies. His dad had let a few things slip that one had seemingly drowned, while the other might have been impaled by something large. Either way, his dad labeled them as murders. It was too much of a coincidence that two bodies would be found in the exact same area, in different manners. Stiles supposed he was right. It made him feel uneasy about the possibility that someone in town was a killer. All evidence suggested it was not the infamous Alpha pack. Somehow Stiles expected they would leave more claw marks, maybe some throat tearing out with teeth, and a lot more blood.

After they left that night, they went back to his house, Danny updating Deaton on the phone as they drove. Upon getting into the house, they crashed. Stiles fell onto his bed, curling up around a pillow, while Danny laid on the floor, using one of the pillows Stiles offered him. Luna laid next to Danny, her fluffy form nuzzled up against his side.

Days turned into weeks, with still no word about potential suspects. There was no word from Lydia after that, which Stiles chose to not feel worried about, more out of her having Jackson to comfort her, which meant Stiles was able to get lost into his own devices, in his own routine. And most of that time was spent practicing. As it turns out, he learned a lot from Deaton. The man had books, quite a few interesting ones. Ranging from spells, sigils and runes, to herbs and plants, and languages. It took a couple days for Stiles to accept Deaton's offer to train him. He still didn't trust the man, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to learn as much magic as he could.

At least that is what he told himself after the reading the same line for the twentieth time while he was at the clinic one afternoon. "Tell me again why I need to learn Latin and Sanskrit.” Stiles said whined frustration. “They are dead languages for a reason.”

"And that is?” Deaton asked as he was fingering through a checklist of items he ordered, both for his actual clinic work and his magical stock.

"No body speaks them!”

Deaton suppresses a chuckle something Stiles was still getting used to. All these emotions this man had been displaying lately, it couldn’t be healthy after being a near statue for many years. 

“Actually these languages are in wide use today. Latin is the official language in Poland, where I believe your ancestry originates from, and Sanskrit may not be widely used, but it is another western language that pays homage to it as they have taken influence from it for centuries. Not to mention these languages are prominent in a magic user's arsenal.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. Studying magic was starting to become a chore, but one he found he was loving. Who knew?

Stiles also kept up his word to practice with Chris as well. He found it to be like a schedule to him. One where he would practice and spar with Chris in the morning and then go to Deaton’s or go home and read through the books Deaton gave him. Danny would come over daily, mostly right after he came back from Deaton’s. Stiles wondered why Danny never came with him. He was sure Danny would get lost in some of the books the man had. Danny loved to read, so he thought he would jump at the idea of getting more books on magic. But then he figured, with how long Danny and Deaton have known each other, he might have already read them all. When he last asked about it, Danny shook his head and changed the subject.

Stiles still hadn't forgotten about that strange conversation they had at the clinic that night. He hadn't forgotten to ask Danny about his magic. Why Danny was so adamant to not tell him about what a Hedge Witch was. Which was one reason why Stiles kept an eye out for those terms when he was reading. He would give Danny some time to tell him, but Stiles would do research of his own.

Danny would often ask him why he wouldn’t go to the clinic in the mornings and get to spend all day practicing or learning. Stiles couldn’t tell him about his mornings with Chris. Not yet. He liked Danny, a lot, and he valued him as a good friend, but he knew what Danny would say. He would tell him to quit. 

Danny has done a lot for him, but it made Stiles feel worse about not saying anything. If Danny became angry with him, he didn’t know if he would be able to survive another person he trusted throwing him away like the past didn’t matter. He hated himself for thinking that. Danny wasn't like that, but he thought the same thing of Scott once. As much as he wanted to trust Danny was that information, he feared what the boy would say. He no doubt would tell Stiles he was being an idiot for still getting involved, for planning to fight or be prepared.

But was he not doing the same with his magic?

So he kept his combat training a secret. Over the weeks he has expanded to learn how to defend and block in various tactics. His speed improved along with his balance and strength. Slowly he became more confident in what his body was doing. 

Chris still put him through drills of cardio and strength training which sucked monumentally, but he found he was enjoying it. It helped to expel extra energy. His magic was growing with his knowledge. He found that he was able to expel more energy when he pushed his magic into his limbs, giving him extra strength. He was experimenting one day when he tried it, but it worked. Just a little push helped him do a few more push ups, punch the bag a little harder, steady his legs a little more when he felt like they were made of jelly after a day of learning to grapple and wrestle out of positions.

He still shied away from being touched. Each time Chris would touch him, gripping any part of his body to show him a new technique or counter move to get out of, he would flinch. Chris noticed it each time, but he never said anything. Stiles was thankful for that.

He had to remind himself a few times when it got too much, it was not Gerard or Grant touching him, it was Chris. It was Chris, who was not his psychotic father, who was helping him, teaching him, not hindering or hurting him. Often causing him to bite his lip, almost too hard at times. Still Chris never said anything, giving him time to calm down. But he was learning. With each new bruise and each painful memory he got when he was touched, he pushed on and hardened himself. After all he wouldn’t be able to improve and protect himself if he lost his nerve every time someone touched him.

A few times during the week they wouldn’t practice at the Argent house. Instead they would go to the Preserve off the town park away from the walking trail. This was when Allison was home. 

Stiles hadn’t seen her since that night at the beginning of summer. It was now the middle of their vacation and he still hadn’t seen her. He had no desire to. He bet he would see her first in some fashion before actually hearing any words from her lips being directed towards him anyway. He never asked about her although every now and then Chris would mention his daughter. Saying she was out with a friend-most likely meaning Scott, he thought-or she was getting along okay, since it was her first summer without her mother. 

Stiles felt for the girl, really he did. But he also wanted to shake her. Surely she must know about what her mother did. The woman tried to kill Scott! Then she killed herself after Derek bit her. That he found out from Gerard while he was being tortured, a smile on that man's face. It was disgusting, seeing how gleeful he was about the woman sacrificing her life because she didn't want to be the _'monster'_ she hunted. He was sorry that Allison had lost her mother, but honestly how much of a tender woman was she anyway. 

Either way, she was near the top of the list of people he didn't want to see right now. The list seemed to be growing the more he thought about it, but he didn’t care. 

It wasn’t like any of those people were knocking down his door, demanding to see him. Or blowing up his phone to talk to him. 

So he focused on himself. He focused on his training and practicing his magic. The more spells he practiced and executed, the more his Spark recognized his growth and went along with it. At least that is how Deaton expresses it. But there were consequences for his drive.

Deaton told him to be careful and not expand too much energy because if he pushed it too far, he could exhaust himself and cause fainting spells or even nosebleeds. Both have happened once already. He fainted after he successfully managed to shut the electricity off at the clinic for a few minutes and then turned it back on. He nearly wasn't able to, but he managed it. It just made him faint after he reached to restart the electrical current back through the building. He made a few bulbs burst in the back, at the force he made the current return, but he still did it. Deaton strictly sent him home after he awoke, telling him to go rest and no more magic for the day.

The time his nose bled was when he and Danny were in the Preserve and he worked his magic to turn the dirt into rock then reform it into mud where it swallowed a boulder and made a small tree uproot. Stiles had a wide grin on his face, while Danny was worried, holding his top shirt out to Stiles to hold against his nose. he told him until he has rested and the bleeding has stopped, they were not doing more magic. Stiles thought those two were being such worry warts. 

Going back to his book at hand, he was trying to translate the Latin wording into English. It was a book on wards and protections, something Deaton wanted to start him on and practice with a soon as he understood it. Telling him it was a user's bread and butter and would prove fruitful to him.

From what he gathered from it so far, it was rather interesting, but also complex. There were different spells for protection, different ways to create wards, varying in all manners of power. Yet he was excited to start creating one. However the giant headache he had at trying to decipher a language that was as foreign to him as anyone preferring Hershey bars over Reese’s was not helping. 

Why couldn’t there be a spell or a way to read books in different languages without the hassle of going through basics first, he thought to himself. That thought sparked an idea in him. 

Maybe there was a way. He had been working on forming incantation and spells like Danny. Deaton and Danny walked him through on specific ways to word a spell, often giving the subject before the intent of desire. Something he made sure to remember. When he asked Deaton if it was possible to create a spell for anything, Deaton almost went a shade lighter.

"No," the man said quickly.

"But-"

"No, Stiles," the mocha skinned man said, coming closer to him. His eyes bright with an emotion he couldn't pinpoint. Was it fear? "Under no circumstances should you ever create a spell."

"Why," he asked. "So long as it follows the rules of an incantation, it should work, right?"

Deaton shook his head. "Theoretically, yes. But it doesn't. It never does. Believe me when I say that you are not first person to have asked that question and definitely wouldn't be the first to try it and something go wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Magic is made possible by one's Spark, you know this." Deaton began, sitting down in the chair beside Stiles, his hands in his lap, eyes dark in thought. "Magic can only be done if one possesses the ability to mold that Spark into a source to call upon. An incantation or spell, is magic already. It is magic that was created with an intent. Words that have magic in them, created with it for a sole purpose."

"Okay," Stiles said, slowly trying to grasp what Deaton was saying. "So why can't another spell be created?"

"Because it is dangerous," Deaton stressed. "It is not for the lack of trying that magic user's have attempted this. If a spell is not known in books or in history at all, one could put as much intent and magic into those words as possible and it still would do nothing. People have died because they thought they could make a spell, underestimating the power it takes to create full fledged words to make it real. Even what we consider simple spells require large amounts of magic. A few simple words could drain you dry where it could take weeks for your magic to return or kill you on the spot from the sheer force of the power you are trying to create."

"So it is impossible to tell how much magic is needed to create a spell and even more impossible to execute it properly," Stiles said in understanding. "You cannot create something without giving something in return."

Deaton nodded solemnly. "Spells are magic already, your spark is just a means to guide it to your intent."

Stiles was silent for a few moment. He didn't expect that. It was strange to think that with magic, you could do almost anything with enough power, but there were still limitations. There were ground rules for everyone, rules that can never be broken without consequence. Yet it made him wonder how any spells were made at all if people didn't try to create them in the first place. Trial and error was natural in life, but if it meant losing your life, then what happens?

Stiles nodded his head when Deaton asked him to promise to not attempt what other have. It was too dangerous, even for magicians with years and years of experience. Stiles returned to his book, slowly attempting to learn Latin the long way. At tedious as it was, he supposed it was the best way.

 _I guess magic is not quite what it seems_ , he thought to himself.

 

*** * * * * * ***

_He was running again._

_Trees and shrubbery passing in his haste to get to wherever. He has no idea how he had gotten back into the woods only that he had to run. He was being chased, that much he knew about. He could hear the laughter behind him. Deep and menacing, like a cackle drifting out to him. He could hear gunshots too._

_He ducked and dodged over the various plant life and went around boulders as he ran. His breathing running ragged and his heart pounding in his chest so hard he could feel it pulse in his arms and ears._

_“Mieczyslaw.”_

_He heard in the air. A chillingly sharp voice carrying his real name out to him as he pushed harder. He knew this was a nightmare, just like last time. At least he hoped so. He didn’t want this to be real._

_His magic swirling inside him ready to answer to his call. He used his magic, waving his hands behind him, making branches from trees twist to warp themselves around to shield behind him._ _Another shot cracked through the air, a sizzling sound running right past his side and into the trunk of a tree he passed._

_“Stiles,” a deep sing song voice yelled behind him._

_He recognized that voice. He recognized the teasing monotone and the wolfish smile it would be coming from. ”Not again.”_

_He pushes his magic into his legs, making him run faster. He felt his skin sting from the branches and leaves that cut into him as he rushed by, but he paid it no mind. He couldn’t stop, not until he made it to town or wherever he could where people were. If this was a dream, he still would not stand still and wait for who he feared to come gut him. Fuck that!_

_He didn’t know if he was running further into the Preserve or heading towards town or any kind of civilization. He pushed himself further, his lungs burning and a side stitch was making him wheeze._

_He didn’t register the thundering crack before he felt the sharp pain in his leg. He stumbled a few steps, looking down to see blood rolling down his leg. His jeans soaking in blood with each wobbly step._

_His thigh had a hole in it the size of his index finger nail. It hurt like hell. He gasped in pain, gritting his teeth to keep from yelling out._

_He looked behind him to see how close his pursuer was, hoping that they weren’t nice close. It wasn’t until he heard another crack that he turned his head back around in time to see a large branch fall near his head. Arching his body out of the way, he fell backwards._

_The thump of the wood meeting ground felt like a vibration running up his torso. His breath rushed out of him as he fell to the ground, hitting the ground hard. Dirt shot up and wafted around in the air before falling back down again. The smaller branches scraped and caught at his pants, nearly pinning him to the ground. He rolled, trying to wiggle his way out from under it. Pulling himself up, he had to try and hurry, only he never got the chance._

_Just then he was pushed off his feet by a hard impact to his side, forcing him up against a tree. He hit his head, making his vision go cloudy before he felt his back being pressed up against the rough bark._

_"So good to see you again.”_

_The harsh, manic tone of the hunter said in his ear. Stiles could feel Grant's hot breath on his skin. The clammy warmth of his fingers on his face and neck as he held him in place. Even in his nightmares the man's eyes were alight with glee and malice. Stiles hoped, rather prayed this was a nightmare. The man was dead, he had to be. Stiles watched him die. He watched him burn and fall to the ground in a lump of charred flesh._

_"I was hoping you would come back to play," Grant said, running a hand down his neck and over his shoulder._

_Stiles found the nausea in his throat. Biting the inside of his cheeks for a moment before hissing out, "Get off of me."_

_That made Grant laugh. It was musical and joyful, twisted and gritty on it's after tones. It was also not the only laugh he heard. Gerard stepped out behind Grant, seeming to appear out of nowhere. A wolfish grin on his wrinkled face. His eyes sparkling with the same glint in Grant's that made dread seeped into Stiles' bones. He was carrying a gun in his hand, the end smoking just a little. No doubt he was  the one firing bullets at him. Grant was more in favor of sharp objects._

_"Well, if it isn't the boy who runs with wolves. Or rather used to run with them." Gerard's grinned widened at Stiles' glare. "I don't suppose Derek liked having a human in his little club."_

_"Fuck you," Stiles spat._

_That earned him a punch in his shot thigh from the old man. That sent a fiery wave of pain up his leg and into his torso. He could just barely keep himself from crying out, but a little whimper did escape his lips. The sound make Grant coo at him, rubbing at the skin of his throat and lower just under the collar of his shirt. He flinched away from the touch, pressing himself back against the tree as much as he could, hoping to get just a little more distance from the man._

_"Don't be like that," Grant whined. "I only want to have some fun."_

_Stiles nearly gagged. His skin felt like it stung everywhere Grant's fingers touched and trailed._

_"Get away from me," he said to Grant, who only smiled bigger._

_The man looked at him up and down, like he was something to eat. Only he moved back a step. It caught Stiles off guard for a second before he remembered who he was dealing with. The man only smiled, not moving more than step from him, keeping his hold on Stiles' shoulder. When he stepped back Stiles saw a flashed on blonde hair and dark skin._

_Erica and Boyd standing hand in hand beside Gerard. Both looks of accusation and hurt on their faces. Stiles could feel his breath hitch in his throat at the sight of them. Even now he wanted to blast Grant away with his magic and run over to them, but something held him in place. It wasn't Grant's hold on him, but the fact they were standing so close to Gerard. So close to the man who held them prisoner and tortured them for over a day. They looked at him with cold eyes and it made a chill run through him._

_"Guys," he found himself saying._

_"How could you Stiles," Erica said, her voice thick with hurt._

_"What-"_

_"You left us," Boyd said, his with anger. His eyes flashed yellow._

_"No," Stiles said shaking his head. Almost coming off of the tree to get to them only to be held back by Grant. "I tried. I tried to find you, I still am...or was." Stiles was losing grips on whether this was a dream or not. He feared this moment. He feared seeing Erica and Boyd again. Despite all that he has done, all that he has learned, he still hadn't been able to find them. No matter how many excerpts on the Internet he read on tracking spells, nothing fit. Nothing made sense or proved beneficial. Danny didn't have any spells for tracking and he never practiced one. He hadn't been able to ask Deaton yet. In truth, he had been distracted._

_He could feel the guilt welling up inside him at the silent admission. Yet it seemed Erica and Boyd already sensed it from him, looking at him with mixtures of sadness and betrayal._

_"I'm trying," he said, his voice becoming heavy._

_"No you are not," Boyd yelled. "You are failing. You left us there to rot and when you heard we were released, you saw your opportunity to forget about it. Forget about us."_

_Stiles shook his head. "That is not true."_

_"You didn't protect us." Erica said venomously. "You couldn't even protect yourself."_

_Their words stung. They were true. He had failed them. That night was a constant in his life anymore. Always it fought it's way to the surface, making him remember in detail. His scars ran deep at what he witnessed and what he went through. No matter how hard he resisted or fought, he still was a victim. He was helpless and powerless to stop it. He was weak._

_He couldn't help the two beta's in front of him. The ones he thought he could be real friends with. He wanted to protect them then, help them, and he failed. Sure he had gotten free later, but unknowingly how by him then and since that time, he had not gone out looking for them. He had not exhausted every bit of resources and power he had at his disposal to find them._

_"I'm sorry," he whispered, feeling the tears burn in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."_

_"You failed us and now," Erica said, coming closer to him slowly, Grant stepping away with an evil grin on his lips. "Now you are going to get what you deserve."_

_He barely saw her nails grow longer, sharpening as her claws came free. He didn't have time to react as she moved fast as a striking snake, her hands moving fast to sink her claws into his gut. He felt them pierce into him, deep inside him. He could feel his stomach clench around her fingers, his blood flow over the sharp points of the nails. His eyes went wide in horror as he stared at her yellow eyes, a snarl ripping from her throat._

_On instinct, he reached for his magic, feeling it surge like a tidal wave up and out. He shot it out of his body at a force he didn't know he had. He knocked Erica back into Boyd, throwing Grant and Gerard off their feet with them. A shot came from the gun Gerard clutched as his finger unintentionally pulled on the trigger. The bullet slicing through the open air towards the sky._

_In a quick second, the bodies of the people before him seemed to swirl and distort, darkening and twisting into shadows. He stared in horror as they seemed to grow and then mold into one another. Rising upright, they formed a silhouette, no longer separate beings anymore. Gerard and Grant now gone, and Erica and Boyd disappearing with them as they all formed something else._

_It was a black figured, cloaked in darkness and black. A large hood over it's head and covering it's face. It was easily a foot taller than Stiles. He couldn't make out any other details about it. The air around him seemed to chill a bit, but it also held a current around it. It tickled his skin and raise the hairs on his arms and neck. As he watched the creature (or person?) form, two crystal blue eyes glowed from the dark crevice beneath the hood. It made the breath rush from his lungs and the blood run cold in his body at the sight. His magic seemed to coil in close inside him, sensing to warm him, protect him._

_”Who are you,” Stiles shouted at the thing. “What do you want! What have you done with my friends?"_

_”I want my prize, Mieczyslaw."_

_The voice, that voice was familiar. It was the same voice he heard before. The one who knew obviously knew his real name. "You," he exclaimed._

_He heard a light laughter, like a whisper on the wind, echoing in his ears._

_Then Stiles started to panic. His magic rising so quickly to the surface that it was overwhelming. The images of his past playing through in front of him like a motion picture. The night in the Argent basement, the faces of the hunter's, Gerard and Grant. The tear and pain filled faces of Erica and Boyd._ _He vaguely could hear a loud howl or like a bark but he couldn’t focus on it. All he saw were the faces he wished he would stop seeing. Gerard, the hunters. All the while the hooded figure keeping it's cold eyes on him. If Stiles could guess, he could almost feel the smiled on the thing's face._

_He watched in horror as Grant seemed to step out from behind the figure, coming closer to him with a large knife in his hand. A smirk on his face and the blade gleaming in the soft light of the foggy day. Stiles couldn't move, blood gushing from his leg and stomach, the tree his only support. All he could do was watch, his magic itching break from under his skin, seeking to answer to his fears and emotions to protect him._

_Just as Grant started to swipe the knife down from his shoulder to his wrist, he felt a sharp pain over his forearm that didn’t feel like the blade._

_It felt like a piercing vice. He felt hot air on his arm, brushing again the fine hairs. When the vice started to shake, the pain sinking deeper into his arm, he screamed._

_"See you soon," the chilling, unnatural voice said as his vision left the forest around him._

He jerked awake in his room, his left arm throbbing, a breathy scream leaving his lips before he reigned it back in. He immediately saw some clothes and various other items in his room in mid-air before falling to the floor in clatters, too loud in the silent house. When he looked down he saw Luna stepping away from him, whining pathetically. Blood was slowly running down his arm and covered the white fur around her muzzle just a little. 

He didn't have to think about what happened. He supposed he should be angry, but he wasn’t. He was relieved.

Luna woke him up. He was having another strange nightmare and she woke him up. Her whining and whimpering as he brown eyes went from his face to the bleeding arm hanging over the edge of his bed was nearly enough to break his heart. 

“Hey it’s okay. I’m alright girl,” he said reaching out slowly to pat her head, swallowing back the large lump in his throat. He must have been screaming or at least talking in his sleep. His mouth felt dry. She lowered her head in submission or maybe guilt, he couldn’t tell. It took a moment for her to raise her head again. She licked his hand but continued to whine. “I’m okay. Good girl, you did good. Thank you for waking me up.”

He pulled himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to the floor. Taking deep lungfuls of air, trying to shake the images of the vivid dream from his mind. He looked down at himself, expecting to see blood on his clothes or a bullet hole in his leg. There was nothing. What he did have was a headache and small bump on his the right side of his head as he rubbed his temples. It didn't go unnoticed to him that that was the side his head hit when Grant shoved him into the tree.

God, what was happening to him? Dream were never like this. Or at least his weren't. He has always had nightmares he could remember in detail, but not ones that resulted in bruises or bumps. He controlled his breathing, trying to steady his heart which hammered in his chest. He was sweating, his shirt damp and clinging to his back. Luna seemed to take his upright position as invitation to come closer and lay her head on his lap. She still whined but it wasn’t as loud as it had been. He took comfort from her closeness, not realizing how much he needed it until now. 

The silence of the house told him his dad was still not home, most likely working a double. He counted his blessings that his father wasn’t home. Who knows what he would have seen if he came in his room, with Luna whining or barking, and then biting his arm, forcing him out of his nightmare and now bleeding from his arm. Same thing for Danny. Danny was going to come over tomorrow, but last night he had to help his grandmother close up shop for the night, so he was going to stay there with her.

Looking down at his injured arm, the scarlet liquid, seeping from the puncture marks, he supposed he should take of that. He pushed his magic into his skin, muttering under his breath as he worked a rather useful healing spell he had learned recently. It was the same healing spell Danny used that night to help heal him before Deaton came. Helping to slow blood flow and ease the pain, and take away inflammation and deeper tissue bruising. Danny admitted he didn’t have the power to do more than that, which made him feel guilty. Stiles still told him how grateful he was for it anyway. He also asked Danny to teach him the spell, teach him how to heal like he did that night, which Danny agreed to with enthusiasm. 

After he had learned the spell, he mentioned it to Deaton. Deaton told him to be careful when healing. Telling him that it takes more energy to heal than it does to cast other spells. Deaton had told him his magic will already start healing his body no matter what. It would know when he was hurt, acting on it’s own to correct it. It is a self defense mechanism, his Spark wanting to not only protect him but also itself. Without Stiles, his magic would disappear.

When Stiles asked if it was like that for all magic users, Deaton gave a cryptic answer. Saying, it depended on that user. Sometimes it depended on how strong their magic was. Other times how severe the injuries. Stiles didn’t know what to do with that. Was Deaton telling him his magic was strong?

Either way, he needed his magic to heal him tonight before he gave his dad a heart attack and probbly put Luna down. Stiles couldn’t let that happen. 

So he healed the bite mark, making it so he was just red marks on his arm, letting his Spark take care of the rest. He went to the bathroom, going to use the cream he still had from Deaton. After washing off the blood, he applied the cream rubbing into the skin liberally.

He found himself thinking about the nightmare. The faces of Gerard and Grant springing to life in front of him. Of Erica and Boyd, looking at him with such disgust and betrayal. It was almost reminiscent of Derek's look that night. It looked and felt just as real. 

But it couldn’t be. Grant was dead. Gerard was somewhere, but he wasn’t here. He wasn’t in Beacon Hills. Erica and Boyd was still missing, waiting for them, for the pack and Stiles to find them. That’s all it was, just a nightmare. The ghosts of the faces that haunted him. The words they said to him, were much the same. His fears playing out in his head.

Then there was the hooded figure. The one with pale, glowing blue eyes. He didn’t know what that was or even who it was. When it spoke, it’s voice was icy and menacing. Deadly. It was like a million spiders crawling over his skin, sending chills up and down his body. Whatever it was, that thing was was playing with him in his dream. He could tell it was. It was enjoying itself, watching as Gerard and Grant tormented him, as Erica impaled him on his claws. What was that thing?

More importantly, what did it mean?

It’s final words were dancing in Stiles brain. It made him uneasy and his insides flip. 

Did it mean that person, that thing, whatever it was coming to Beacon Hills? Was it coming here? For him? Was it coming for something else?

He didn’t like that thought. Not for a moment. What if it came here to hurt him? Or worse, hurt his dad, or Danny. Anyone he knows. He didn’t worry about the pack, they could protect themselves. However, with the threat of the Alpha pack closing in, two betas missing, and lack of experience on most of their parts,  he was starting to worry.

A part of him didn’t want to worry or give them a second thought about their well being when they obviously didn’t care about his. He wasn’t pack anyways, so why she he care.

Yet he couldn’t help it. Call it a fatal flaw in his character. He just cared to much.

His mind went back to the wards. Maybe there was a way for him to protect the town. Maybe there was a way to protect everyone from this...thing. If not this threat then maybe another one.

There had to be a way to shield the town and not just a person or an object. Mind made up, he ran back to his room. Shaking off the last it of fear his nightmare gave him. Picking up the book on wards and protections, he started to think. If there was ever a time to make a spell to understand another language, it was now. Drifting over to his notes and a book on languages for incantation, he started to write. Taking notes and hints on what he needed to make a spell. It may not work, but he had to try. He knew what Deaton told him, how dangerous it was. But with his nightmare, fresh in his mind, now mixing with the images of Gerard and Grant's devilish smiles, the last look of Erica and Boyd's grimaces of pain and pleading eyes, fueling him, he couldn't help it.

Screw the consequences. If he felt like he was being drained of his magic then he would stop. He was always too curious for his own good, so why stop now. He had to try something, anything after the nightmare. He didn't have time to learn a new language in order to do that. He had to get to it now. He shook off any exhaustion to find a way. Luna laid on the floor nearby, her brown eyes on him as he worked through the night. If his dad came home from work while he was still reading through the books and taking notes, slowly trying to word out a spell, he paid it no mind. He needed to focus. He had work to do. 

He still had to find the two betas, but he first had to make sure they had a home to return to. He had to find a way to protect this town. Protect his home.


	10. Protective Intent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is up everybody! I meant to update yesterday, but sadly work just sucks. It was fun writing this chapter and I hope you all like it. There is a lot happening and Much to remember. AGAIN THANK YOU ALL FOR YOU LOVE AND COMMENTS I REALLY APPRECIATE IT. Please continue to read because I continue to write. I'll update again soon! :)

Oh this is such a bad idea, he thought. 

Stiles sat on the floor of his silent house, a circle of books and papers around him as he stared. Luna was laying on his bed, half dozing and half keeping an eye on him. She stayed with him all night, letting him work as she remained a silent companion. He had been working all night and into the morning. His dad had come in and gone to bed, never bothering him. It was now closing in on late morning and he was was exhausted, but he still felt energy running through his body and his mind was running a mile a minute. Even if he tried to sleep now, his mind would not let him. Nor did he want to sleep anyway.

After Luna woke him up last night, he couldn't shake the gut wrenching feeling of guilt he felt at seeing Erica and Boyd again, even in his dreams. The guilt that sprang back into him at seeing their faces, hearing their words, feeling their anger and hatred towards him. He did leave them. He abandoned them that night. He never returned to help them after the Jackson fiasco. He even temporarily forgot about them, being sidetracked with his lessons on magic and self-defense. He had forgotten why he had asked for Danny's help in teaching him magic in the first place. 

How could he do that?

Maybe he wasn't in the wrong for being preoccupied or trying to better himself so he could help them, but it wasn't like he was actively looking for ways to find them either. When was the last time he tried researching a tracking spell. He had the internet, he had some of Deaton's books now. He was still the son of the Sheriff. When did he forget to help find his friends?

Well now, he was going to correct that. After he completed this spell he worked so hard for hours trying to build, he was going to read as many of Deaton's books as he could. No matter what language they were in. If the spell worked that is. 

He looked at his hopefully completed spell. A small bit of pride filling him but quickly pushed down by the fear. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He was warned against it. Of course did that mean he was going to listen to said warning? Not if his boundless curiosity had anything to say about it. So he swallowed around his suddenly dry throat and sat crossed legged on the floor, holding the spell he wrote down on his lap.

He prayed this would work. So much was riding on it. Maybe it was taking the easy way out, but he didn't have time. Time was being ticked down with every passing minute and what he feared most was that Erica and Boyd were out of time. This summer was already halfway through, no word or sight of them, and the last time he had seen them, they were bloody, sweaty, and scared. No, he needed to return to his original objective. He needed to find them, get them home. Then maybe, he could try and tell them, convince them, that he didn't leave them.

He had done as much research as he could on forming the spell. Carefully choosing the words, pulling from other spells he read in some of Deaton's book. He studied the wording of other spells, even ones in other languages. He tried to get a sense of how common word placement and contexts were used in them. All the while translating them into his own spell. He wrote his creation in Latin, being an old language, and a powerful one at that. It helped make it easier to reword if needed and organize to the old language's rules. It was safe to say that it was not easy and Stiles had a headache that started somewhere around the first paragraph he read the night before. It was also a good thing someone created Google Translate. Right now it was his new best friend.

Looking at the chaos of his room and then back to his completed spell. Luna still hadn't moved, but her eyes were wide open, her pink tongue hanging from her mouth as she watched him. Well, now was a good a time as any.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He didn't have to look at his paper, having memorized each word over the hours he spent writing them. He had to focus, concentrate on his magic and the wording. Slowly he pulled from his magic. The warmth in his chest expanding as he willed it to go further. When he spoke, he pushed his magic into his voice, hoping it was transferring into his words. He was a bit unsteady in his wording, mostly trying to feel if his magic was running from his body too quickly or that he was dying on the spot. He sent up a silent prayer that neither of those would happen.

After his first round of his spell, he tried again, pushing more magic into it, forcing his voice to be calmer and more commanding. That was what he had to do. He had to command his magic to make his intent known. So he pushed that into his words. Letting his emotions and mind fuel what he wanted his spell to do. He finished the spell the second time, then a third, and then a fourth. Each time pushing more and more magic into it. He felt his body heat up from the inside, the usual flame in his chest now a roaring inferno. 

Stiles couldn't be sure, but he thought he felt a breeze on his skin, but that might have been a trick of his mind. He had to focus. Once more, he ran through the spell. His voice more sure and commanding than ever before. Relaxing his hands and shoulders, he let the Latin words roll off his tongue like he knew them by heart his whole life. With each word he felt his magic pull from him. Like a release of pressure on his body. Each word, each syllable he felt lighter, the heat in his body leaving him in chunks. When he completed the last word, he pushed further, this time expelling his magic as best he could by pure desire alone.

He wanted this, he wanted to do this. Not for him, but for his friends. 

With that he was done and he felt lightheaded even before he opened his eyes. Actually that was wrong, he felt dizzy before, now he felt faint. The last thing he saw before he collapsed were the pile of books and the black inked words all blurring together into nothingness.

When he woke up again, just barely escaping the outskirts of a nightmare, the sun was orange on the horizon behind the trees of the Preserve. He heard nothing except birds outside and the slight chirp of a few crickets, but nothing else. Opening his eyes further, he found Luna half laying on top of him, the other half on the books. Obviously she had come down from the bed at some point to be closer to him. He had a headache that sprang to full blown pain when he opened his eyes, radiating all around his head.

Groaning in pain, he heard Luna's soft whine, feeling her wet nose nuzzle against the skin of his arm. He pushed himself up to a near leaning position, ignoring the ache in his cheek at sleep on the edge of a couple books below his face. His head pulsing in time with his heart. His skin felt heated, but other than that, he was still breathing. So he would count that as a win. But did the spell work?

He gingerly reached for the closest book he could get, the one he recognized as the leather bound book that was written in Spanish. Turning to a random page, he began to take notice of the words. He had to wait a moment for his vision to go back to normal, before he could see them clearly.

"The magic user will be unable to reverse the effects within 24 hours, until...," Stiles stopped. He felt his eyes go wide as he realized what he said. Thinking he made it up he flipped to another page. "This magic works best when combined with a meaningful object to...." Stiles threw the book away before grabbing for another one, skimming it just barely to recognize Greek writing before opening it to a page. 

"To tap into an outside source, the user must push their magic into..." Stiles moved to another book copy, this one in Mandarin, "Use of mistletoe has various forms, but all can be for both poison and a cure. _Holy shit!_ "

Stiles sat up quicker than he probably should have, his head making his vision swirl. It didn't deter him from cracking a big grin on his face that felt as splitting as it was no doubt goofy. He gaze locked on every book he could see with a title. Each one branded with their original language, each one he could read as clearly as if they were English. Ohmygod, this is amazing he kept saying to himself. He could feel his excitement radiate through his body. Luna picked up on it, her tail thumping against the ground as he sat on his heels. He couldn't believe his spell worked. He couldn't believe it actually, genuinely worked. He pinched himself a couple times, making sure he wasn't dreaming. The more he looked at the open pages of the books around him, the more their languages jumped out at him, his mind telling him what each word said.

It was mind boggling to say the least. Aside from the splitting headache and the flush of his skin he felt fine. He wanted to tell Danny and even Deaton. He wanted to share his joy, but he knew that would not be a good idea. He would be in serious trouble for it. Even still, he couldn't believe it worked. He had no idea how, but it did. He was now able to understand all languages he read. It was amazing.

But there would be time to celebrate later. He had a task to get done. So getting up from his floor rather unsteadily, he made slowly made his way to his bathroom. Taking a quick cold shower to help with his skin, he stepped out feel a little better. The cold helping to dampen his headache as well. He swallowed a couple pills of Advil before heading back out. He trotted downstairs, hearing the quiet of his creaking house, knowing his dad was still at work. He went to the kitchen to pop a mug of water into the microwave and pulling some chamomile tea from the cupboard overhead. After making his tea and mixing in a little honey, he went back up stairs, Luna walking about the house, no doubt getting some exercise after laying down with him all day. He carefully sat on his bed with the book on wards and protections in his lap. The Sanskrit text staring at him as he opened to chapter one. He sent a quick text to Danny noticing he had two missed ones, telling him he would see him tomorrow and that he was going to get some shut eye early. The was a lie, but still, he didn't want the guy to worry. He was in for a long night again, but at least he wouldn't have to do a ton of translating in the process. 

Taking in a sigh of relief, balancing his cup of tea in his hand, he started to read. Wanting to absorb as much knowledge as he could. 

 

*** * * * * * ***

Ordering his drink, he sat on a plushy faux leather chair close to the far window in the Starbucks shop in town. Stiles had woken up very early, nearly screaming himself awake from another nightmare. He was counting his blessings that he had stifled his scream into his pillow in time. He didn't want his dad barging in, asking him what was wrong. His dad didn't need to know he was having nightmares. It wasn't like he never had them before, he had them when he was young and his mom was sick. They got worse right after she died, but they eventually stopped with some time. He hadn't really had nightmares since, not really until he and Scott were pulled into the supernatural world around them. He wasn't going to spring any of his hot messes on his dad.

He woke up sweating and shaking, so to dispel the images lingering in his mind's eye, he started to gather up the books and papers from his floor and stack them on his desk. He had spent a good portion of the night reading about wards and protections. He felt pretty confident he could do it. Almost everything he read coincided with one another it was just mixing up a few details and executing it all a little differently. He wasn't finished with the book, but he read a lot of the important chapters, especially the ones about after effects and protection failures.

He had only gotten a few hours of sleep before he woke up. After he refused to go back to sleep, he resumed his reading. Taking notes on some things for future reference and then continuing. Eventually he heard his dad get up and head downstairs around  four in the morning before no doubt getting breakfast and a large travel mug of coffee, before heading out the door. Stiles took that moment to leave his room, grab a quick shower, and brush his teeth.

He took in his reflection. His light skin looking paler, the shadow and bags under his eyes evident. There was nothing he could do about that. He ran his hand through his drying hair a bit, applying a little gel. When did his hair get longer? Why did he not notice? Ignoring the redness and tired look in his eyes, he left the room. Heading downstairs to let Luna out for a few moments to do her business, grabbing a Pop-tart while he waited. When he allowed her back in, he grabbed his keys, pet her on the head, before closing the door behind him.

He wanted to get started right away on his wards. If they didn't work he would try again later, but he needed to try. So he sent a quick text to Danny, warning him that he would be over soon. A reply came back a few moments later, telling him to give him a half hour to wake up.

And that was how Stiles found himself in the local Starbucks, waiting for his drink and Danny's. Sitting within hearing distance of the will-call area, his phone loosely balancing in his hands, he knee bouncing away. He was getting jittery, what from the nightmare last night or the spell he created yesterday that worked which was still surreal to him, or maybe it was the anticipation of what he was aiming to do that morning, he couldn't say which of those it was. He sat thinking, going over everything in his head again and again on what he had read. Just to help pass the time awaiting for his drinks in the long line he had to endure, he pulled out his phone, looking up Spanish books or articles, seeing how much he could understand. Funny thing is that he could read all of it. It was as easy as the English language no matter how many times he stopped and started again thinking it was a trick of the eyes. 

His knee was still bouncing, his fingers tapping away as he waited. Yeah no one could accuse him of being tired, although his body might feel differently.

"You nervous you won’t get your drink or something,” a voice asked across from him. 

He looked up to see a boy his age, sitting in another leather chair, balancing a computer on his lap and and pen and notebook on the arm of the chair. The boy had lightly tanned skin, light brown hair and brilliant sapphire eyes. He had an eyebrow cocked at him, twirling the pen in his long fingers. 

“Uh...no, no, I just have a lot of energy this morning,” Stiles said a little awkwardly. 

The boy tilted his mouth down in consideration. “Coffee will only make it worse,” he said.

"Coffee is my life line,” Stiles said with wide eyes. “The world is brighter with coffee. Without it would crumble into anarchy.”

The boy chuckled putting his pen down on his pad before picking up his own cup of heated goodness. “I suppose I can’t argue.” 

Stiles watched him take a gulp, the movement of his throat muscles a little captivating before he realized what he was doing and returned his gaze to his phone. Where the hell did that come from?

”What’s your excuse for being up so early,” the boy asked him suddenly.

In surprise Stiles tried to think of an excuse. He couldn’t very well say he was meeting his friend to do some magic work. There was no other excuse. Except that he couldn’t sleep. His latest nightmare was one he couldn’t shake. Grant and Gerard were nothing new, but Erica and Boyd looking at him with such disdain, such anger. Then Erica digging her claws into his abdomen. 

He shook himself from the imagery not wanting to lose himself in the still fresh memory. The other boy was looking st him curiously, still waiting for a response.

Stile shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I’m meeting a friend in a bit.”

Technically it was the truth. The boy seemed to nod slowly before returning to his work. The boy looked familiar but he couldn’t be sure where he had seen him before. Maybe a class they might have shared or roaming the halls. Somewhere around town? He couldn’t be sure. 

He didn’t look to be older. He had a bit of stubble on his face, roaming over his jawline and cheeks, making him look edgier, older. So maybe he was the same age. 

“Well that’s a good way to start the day,” the boy said with a small smile. 

Stiles nodded. He noticed something black on the inside of his arm, reaching up towards his wrist as he moved to grab his drink again and take a sip. Stiles couldn’t tell what it was but it looked like some fancy cursive writing. Most likely a phrase. 

“Stiles?”

Stiles heard his name being called, moving to get up to get his drinks. When he got up he dropped his phone from his lap forgetting that it was not in his pocket. Turning back to get it, he didn’t have time to bend down before the boy leaned over to grab it for him, balancing his laptop in his hand as he moved.

Picking it up he handed it back to Stiles, a crooked smile on his face. 

“Stiles, huh?"

"Uh yeah, it’s a...uh...it’s a nickname.” Stiles was stumbling over his words. Why was he stumbling? This guy's eyes were so incredibly blue.

”So what’s your real name,” the boy question. 

Stiles huffed in amusement. “You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it if you knew.” 

“Okay,” he said with a looking down at the phone.

Stiles didn’t realize for a few beats that he and this boy were still holding onto either ends of his phone. Seeming to notice the same thing, the boy took his hand away, sitting back into his chair. Stiles put his phone back in his pocket, mumbling a thanks, as he got up and turned to go feeling more awkward than he had in a while. 

“See ya around Stiles,” he heard behind him. 

Turning to face the brunet he nodded. “Bye...uh?”

"Ryan.”

Stiles felt heat rise in his throat and cheeks. “Bye Ryan.”

Ryan smiled, his sapphire eyes as bright as his smile. Stiles turned to head out the door, forgetting for a moment that he had to push instead of pull the door. Feeling more embarrassed and genuinely confused Stiles took a deep breath of the outside air before heading back to his Jeep. 

For whatever reason his mind didn’t drift back to his nightmare that morning as he headed to Danny’s. He thought of other things. Mostly involving his magic, what he read quickly, and hoping that it would all work. If there was the occasional flash of sapphire eyes and light brown hair, he decided not the mention it to himself further.

Not yet anyway.  

 

*** * * * * * ***

Stiles and Danny were in the woods, heading out a good distance from the town just to help give them some privacy from prying eyes. Stiles had picked up a tired, disgruntled looking Danny from his grandmother's, holding a large coffee in his hand, which Danny took immediately and took a long swig. Danny had asked-more like whined-why they were out in the early morning when the sun was just barely over the horizon, when Stiles said that it was because he wanted to try something.

On the way into the Preserve towards the southern part of town, Danny kept sneaking glimpses to Stiles, which he ignored, trying to reel in on his excitement. When he parked on the side off the road into one of the many camping paths in the woods, they got out, Stiles heading into the woods before Danny had a chance to ask anymore questions. Danny looked surprised about Stiles wanting to come out into the woods, but he supposed he thought it was to practice some magic. The boy didn’t complain or ask although the looks he kept shooting Stiles as they walked were getting for more curious and questioning.

"Okay, wait up," Danny said, after about ten minutes of them walking. He caught up to Stiles, holding his cup in his hand, Stiles leaving his in the jeep. "What is going on? Why are we out here so early?"

"I wanted to try something," Stiles said nonchalantly.

"Uh huh, out in the woods, early in the morning." Danny said not feigning his sarcasm.

"Exactly," Stiles said with a grin.

Danny snorted. "Come on Stiles what are we doing out here?"

"I want to try my attempt at making some wards around the town." Stiles said quickly, not looking at his friend as they continued walking.

Danny was quiet for a moment, the twigs and leaves crinkling under their shoes before he spoke again. "And how would you know how to do that?"

"I read about them," Stiles said with a shrug. "In one of Deaton's books."

"So let me get this straight. You read about wards and protection spells and decided to give it a go on the town.”

Stiles said, “Yeah. If this works then maybe we can prevent anymore monsters from coming and making it into a war zone.”

 "Stiles, what you plan on doing is really strong magic," Danny said in warning. 

"I am aware, but I want to try," he said honestly. "What is the worst that can happen?

"Well that depends on how much magic you put into this. Wards can be powerful shields. Too little magic will make them useless to provide protection. Too much magic could cause the shields to not let anyone past them. Meaning you could trap everyone in town."

"Okay I get it," Stiles said, knowing the consequences. He read about them strenuously over the course of the night and refreshed it this morning. "I still want to try. Which is why I brought you. If it gets too much, then you can pull me away from it."

Danny nodded looking a little annoyed. "So you brought me along as a babysitter."

Stiles giggled stopping at tree of his choosing, one that was of decent size, but not overly huge. This should be a good distance away from the town border to prevent people from stumbling upon it and deep into the Preserve to provide amble distance between potential threats and the town. He pulled a switch blade hunting knife from his pocket. It was one that Chris had let him keep, or maybe it was one Stiles took and forgot to give back, however you look at it, he needed it at the moment. 

"I brought you along as a friend for support." Stiles said, flipping the blade out. Danny eyed it with arched brows. Stiles could see Danny's unease, his hand gripping the cup in his hand, broad shoulder tense. He understood why Danny was worried, but he needed to try this. He hadn't mentioned his nightmare, the one with creepy blue eyes again, but it didn't mean it wasn't a factor. Stiles still couldn't get that thing's last words out of his head. The worry he felt as bone chilling as the creature's voice was. Stiles just wanted to try this. It would help put some ease on his mind, knowing the town was protected in a way. If not protected, then maybe his wards could warn him of potential threats. "Look," he said softly to Danny who was still looking at the knife. "If you don't want me to do this, then okay, we can find another way. I just want to give it a shot."

Danny nodded after a moment, taking a deep breath before relaxing a bit. "Alright. If you are going to do this, then I know the best way to create a ward or protection is to use something meaningful."

Stiles nodded. "Something representing the user's desire."

Danny didn't seem surprised Stiles knew about the meaning. "Yeah."

"Like an object, a person, or even a symbol." Stiles said, mostly to himself as he turned towards the tree he chose. 

"The stronger the meaning, the stronger the ward will be." Danny had said, although Stiles didn't really hear him. He was busy focusing, sensing his magic pooling inside him, ready and waiting for him to use.

So Stiles took the knife in hand, twisting to the blade was pointing at the tree and started to get to work. Slowly he carved what he visualized into the bark of the tree. Careful to not slip and cut himself or make an error in his work. Danny remained silent as he watched Stiles etch what he wanted into the wood. Stiles had already picked out what was meaningful to him a little while ago. He picked it out when he was reading about the different kinds of wards. The one he was doing was meant to protect the town. Keep out supernatural intruders who wished to do harm, at least that is what he was going for. If not that, then he hoped it would alarm him, let him know about the threat to the town so that he could answer it accordingly. He wouldn't let other people get hurt due to their ignorance of the supernatural.

As he worked, he poured everything he could into the carving. He muttered under his breath the spell that he learned, shoving his intent, desire, and wish into it. In the minutes it took him to finish his design, he felt his magic burn inside him, his Spark guiding it into his arms and in his fingers, pushing it all into the tree he carved in. Stepping back from the tree, feeling satisfied, he took in his masterpiece, well somewhat masterpiece. He could feel his magic in the tree, centered on the carving. It was small, but it was was big enough to be seen if you knew what to look for. Set against the gray and brown wood, was the ruin, the symbol he wanted to use to protect this town. 

"That’s a-.“ Danny began stepping up beside him to look in astonishment at the symbol.

"Trisklieon.” Stiles said turning his head to the side just a little to see the symbol in a different angle. 

“Celtic, right?” Danny asked still looking at the tree.

Stiles nodded, but said nothing more. He eyed the tree, feeling it radiate his magic from it's trunk. He felt proud of himself, but there was a time for that later. The trisklieon stood out light tan and green against the rest of the tree. He did some research a while ago on the symbol, learning of it’s origins and it’s meanings. Many things could be associated with it. It depends on each person, letting them decide what it means to them. 

“What made you choose this,” Danny said  giving a small smirk.

Stiles shrugged, trying to think of the best way to put it. “Each spiral represents something, the whole symbol means that it is constantly flowing, always with the potential to change, one thing flows into the next.”

Danny chuckled. “I am aware of it’s meaning. What I meant is why you chose the Hale pack symbol?”

Stiles stared at his friend with wide eyes. He could feel a small blush creeping into his cheeks before he turned his eyes away. He forgot how much Danny might know. The boy had known about the supernatural far longer than Stiles had. Of course he would know about the local werewolf pack, even before the Hale fire. Stiles didn't really have an answer to his question, well he had an answer, but maybe it wasn't a good one. He chose that symbol for a list of reasons. But then he could be accused of being biased.

Danny looked on in quiet resolution, letting Stiles work through his thoughts and emotions. Stiles still didn't answer his question, instead his mind raced passed it, voicing his insecurities instead.

“I know I probably shouldn’t use it,” he said, feeling his voice stutter just a bit as he thought of the pack, of what he no longer was a part of. “I have no right to. It is not my symbol, or technically it is not anyone's. No one can own the right to a ruin or symbol, not to mention the different meanings many can associate with them. I mean, I’m not pack anymore, not that I ever really was. I get why I am not part of the pack, I understand that I am not needed or wanted for obvious reasons. I just wanted a symbol that will be strong enough to protect this town, regardless of where I stand in the pack or not." Stiles realized he was rambling, something he hasn't done for a while. He closed his mouth quickly, looking at Danny sheepishly. The other boy regarded him with a small fond smile, but said nothing, letting him continue. "I just...I wanted it to mean something."

He finished indicating the trisklieon with a finger. He could feel his sadness rise in his chest, his magic awakening to soften it, to comfort him. He knew using the pack symbol was a bad idea. But he couldn’t help it. Even with all the ruins and symbols out there he could choose from, even with the ones that actually meant protection, this was the one to jump out at him every time.

“They are idiots you know,” Danny said quietly, bringing Stiles gaze back his. Sad amber eyes meeting honest dark brown ones. “They are idiots for doing that to you.”

Stiles looked down, feeling his chest constrict. No matter how much time has gone by, being kicked out of the pack or being asked to stay away since he wasn’t officially part of the pack, it still hurt. It stung in his chest and made his stomach roll. He never allowed himself to think about it for very long, knowing he would lose himself to his grief all over again. He cried enough that night, after it all happened, after he lost it before he could even gain it. 

He never was pack and he never would have the chance to be again. 

“Yeah, well,” he said clearing his throat, “I didn’t exactly make it easy for them. Being human, rambling constantly, always in the way. I suppose I had it coming.”

"Bullshit,” Danny said between his teeth.

Stiles shook his head. “No it’s okay. I can’t pretend I lost anything when I never had it to begin with.”

”You really expect me to believe that?” Danny asked his face contorted into sadness and anger.

”I was not ever pack. Not fully.” Stiles said with another shrug as if it was all okay. “Anyway, Derek made his choice. I could have fought harder, tried to make him see the truth, but I didn’t.”

”Derek should have known better,” Danny said harshly. “How could he believe you would do something like that?”

”Because it happened once already,” Stiles said turning to the other boy, feeling his own anger coming to the surface. He wasn’t angry at Danny’s persistence to defend his actions or to accuse Derek of his faults. He was angry at the whole situation. He knew Danny was right, that it wasn’t his fault, but he couldn’t help but not partially blame Derek either. “He trusted the wrong person and it cost him everything.” 

“That has nothing to do with you.”

“Maybe not,” Stiles said feeling his anger slide away, replaced by a sad acceptance. “But I understand why. I can’t blame him for that, for assuming the worst when he has already seen what that worst can do.”

"And where does that leave you?”

"I said I can’t blame him for being hurt, I never said I couldn’t blame him for not giving me a chance.”

"So why use that symbol when they don’t deserve it from you?” Danny said getting back to his original question.

“Because,” he began in a soft, reluctant voice, “despite everything, I still view the pack as protection. I still see them as what they are meant to be. I still see them as safe.”

Danny watched him for a moment, whether to gaige the truth in his words or to wonder about his sanity for still caring about the pack, he didn’t know. Either way a long moment passed before Danny sighed shaking his head a little. 

“Like I said, they don’t deserve you, even after all of this, you still work to protect them.”

”This isn’t for them,” Stiles said quickly to hide his rising blush. Danny just gave him a look that said he wasn’t buying it. “Okay it is not totally for them. This is for everyone. Why should anyone else suffer if I can do something about it? There are plenty of other people here that I care for and I don’t want to see any of them hurt.”

"You do not owe anyone anything," the Hawaiian said softly. 

"This isn't about owing something to someone," Stiles said, balancing the knife in his hand as he started to walk away, going to make another part of his wards. "This is about doing what I can to help. If it means people can remain blissfully ignorant to the dangers around them and we face the dark truths, then I will welcome that."

"Are you speaking for everyone," Danny asked, "or your father?"

"Both and you too?" Stiles said. At Danny's smirk and soft eyes, Stiles shrugged, still not breaking his walk. "What is a happy coincidence in you being here to help with that?"

"What indeed," Danny said with a small smile as they headed to their next destination.

 

*** * * * * * ***

Jackson hasn’t been this unsettled for a while. He couldn't remember when the last time was, but that was beside the point. Right now he was pacing back and forth, possibly creating a ware trail in the hardwood floor beneath him. He was keeping watch over Lydia, the girl sleeping softly on the couch in the next room. They were at Derek's place, the man finally living in something other than a run down, burnt shell of a building or in an abandoned train car, instead trading all of that in for a loft space on the outskirts of town in an industrial area. It was a large place, most of it an open floor plan. Except for this room that was just for storage use that Derek used for extra storage.

The man didn't have much in the way of taste and the building smells more like copper and concrete than anything else, but Jackson would take that over burnt wood and mildew any day. The room Lydia was in was small, mostly consisting of boxes and small futon, but it was enough for the purpose of having her pass out. He is worried about her. She hasn't been sleeping properly and ever since he found Lydia stunned into silence that night, she refused to acknowledge it. She wouldn't talk to him about it no matter how many times he asked. He didn't even want to think about what she was doing outside in the early morning in her pajama's and with Stilinski of all people.

Why the hell was he there to begin with? The story he told him when he arrived to pick up Lydia sounded so vague and had more holes in it than it should. However, it was more than he got from Lydia. He didn't know whether to believe the other boy or not. He remembered listening to him, not sensing a lie from his heart beat, so maybe it was true. But still why was he out so early in the morning and why did Lydia call him first. Jackson wash her boyfriend not Stilinski.

Maybe Jackson was being jealous or overprotective, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was up. He wasn't in the loop of that something and it was starting to eat at him. Who knows maybe Stilinski was lying and was really good at it. It wasn't like the kid would have been much help anyway in uncovering the truth if he didn't know anything. He wasn't helpful on the Lacrosse field nor was he any help in finding Erica or Boyd. Hell, he promised he would contact Lydia with updates and tips on potential whereabouts and any leads. They haven't heard anything from him in over two weeks up until Jackson found him with a shaken Lydia. The last time he saw him before that was at his house when he proclaimed he would not help with the Alpha pack.

He wouldn't be much help anyway, Jackson thought to himself.

But still, he couldn't deny the boy had some good ideas. Yet there was something about him that day that Jackson found, unnerving. The way he spoke to him. Jackson had never heard him sound like that before. So detached and hauntingly cold. And his eyes just kept him grounded, piercing into him like daggers. It was like when Lydia gave him her pissed off look that told him to not argue or she would rip out his tongue. Only this, this seemed different. More compelling in a way. He had the same kind of look in his eyes when he picked Lydia up, but less compelling and more, dare he say it, authoritative. No, he would deny that to his grave.

Either way, the bench warmer wasn't going to help. After Derek came back from his mystery field trip that day, no one spoke of it since. Which didn't seem right to Jackson. Stilinski was pack, wasn't he? So why was he not here? Why did he refuse to help them with the Alpha pack when everyone kept insisting they ask him anyway. Even lately, his name had been thrown around. Isaac and Lydia both mentioning him a few times, asking on if they think Stiles might be able to help with a theory or running through past thoughts about where Stiles pinpointed a possible place to have a look. Each time his name was mentioned, Jackson could feel the weighty silence that would fall over the room, sometimes there would be no silence but someone would quickly move past the name altogether and keep talking. Derek would have little to say in the matter, and Peter, well he was a creeper wolf as always. Putting in his two cents when he felt like it was needed. No matter how much they worked or went over locations on the town and county maps, they came up with nothing. The little times they went to actually search, also met with fruitlessness. He practically had to beg Lydia to get some rest today while they were there, her irritability and exhaustion starting to make the rest of the pack walk on eggshells after she snapped at Isaac for eating a bag of Doritos too loudly.

Derek looked like he was trying to reign in his own annoyance, so Jackson had to  coax her into taking a small nap while they worked out where to look for Erica and Boyd next. He could feel everyone’s unease. The disappearance of the two betas and the threat of the Alpha pack looking over their heads. He felt at a loss of what to do and his wolf was pacing almost ever moment of each day, as antsy as him. He supposed it was a small blessing when they have not heard anything more from the Alpha pack since the beginning of summer, but it didn’t mean much when you put the stories about them into thought.

 He kept pacing much to Derek and Peter’s annoyance. Not that they mentioned it, aside from the huff and puff here and there. Jackson couldn’t sit still though. He would go crazy if he did. He kept monitoring Lydia from the other room, listening to her breathing and heartbeat. Luckily the door opened and in came Isaac, holding a few bags of groceries that no doubt was mostly junk food since Derek never really cooked. Surprisingly Peter did a few meals for them when they were there for late nights. Who would have thought?

Much to everyone’s relief was the promise of food when the boy came in, but it quickly turned to dismay when another scent followed him in. Scott McCall seemed to squeeze through the door, a look of nervousness all over his face. 

"What is he doing here," Derek growled, standing up from his seat at the small table near the kitchen.

Scott held up his hands, trying to ward off Derek's anger, but it was Peter who spoke. "I asked Isaac to pick him up."

"You did what," Derek asked turning to his uncle, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Well dear nephew," Peter said with a sly smile, "given our current situation and limited man power, I thought we could use another set of hands, eyes, and ears."

Jackson walked over to Derek and Peter, Isaac already in the kitchen putting things away, apparently avoiding everyone's gaze. Jackson barely got a glimpse of any of the groceries, before Isaac was burying his head in the closet and cabinets. 

"What does he know about our situation," the Alpha asked tensely.

"Well I know that you're betas are still missing and that the Alpha pack is here because of _you_ for starters," Scott said crossing his arms.

Derek growled menacingly, his claws just barely peaking through. Jackson had to step in front of him, blocking his view from the other werewolf to keep him from doing something. He wasn't one to like McCall, especially because of his plain clueless look on most situations, his whining on morality, not to mention his annoying infatuation with Allison. It was enough to make anyone want to knock him on his ass. Jackson looked over at Peter who arched an eyebrow at the other teen and then over to Isaac who has been mysteriously quiet since he came in the door.

"McCall in case you hadn't noticed, you are not exactly welcome here," Jackson said. "Mind the attitude."

Scott regarded the Lacrosse co-captain with an deadpanned look before looking over at Isaac who was now watching all of this with silent interest. "I am here because I want to help." When no one responded and Derek simply growled under his breath he quickly moved on. "I want to help find them. Their parents may not care, but we all do."

"Do you," Derek asked stepping around Jackson, his arms folded over his chest. "You expect me to believe that you care about my betas. Given how your moral compass has been spinning a lot lately."

"That is not...I just-." The kid broke off only to take a deep breath and start again. "I can help. I have been practicing with my senses and I'm sure Stiles has a some good ideas on-." Scott stopped again, seeming to look around the room, trying to find a familiar face. He didn't seem to notice that Derek had gone even more tense, his breathing stopping in his throat. Peter was flicked his eyes over to his nephew and then back down again, doing nothing else. Isaac went still for a moment, but he was as clueless as Scott. Isaac hadn't been there when Jackson and Lydia came back from his house that day, Lydia upset and with Stile's firm no in tow.

Jackson wasn't aware if anyone told Isaac about their conversation or Derek's apparent departure after they told him, but he thought Peter might have. Jackson sure hadn't. He barely spoke with the boy to begin with. Sure they practiced and sparred with each other, but that was mostly the furthest they had gone in terms of communication.

"Where is Stiles," Scott asked confused.

"Not here," Derek said tensely, looking away and turning towards the large wall sized window. Jackson couldn't tell what the man was thinking. Derek wasn't exactly one to share those details. Neither was he to be honest. Ever since the beginning of summer, after Jackson returned to being a werewolf, Jackson has noticed things about his Alpha. Originally Jackson didn't want anything to do with the pack, but he couldn't deny it's appealing pull. Or Derek. The man was broody and scowling most of the time, but mix that with his temper and you get a scary packaged Alpha.

"Look Derek I-," Scott began only to be cut off by a loud scream that echoed off the concrete and brick walls.

It was piercing and terrified. It was also long and loud. It made them all wince from the force as it bounced off the walls. At Lydia’s scream everyone came running with Jackson moving first, barely turning on his heel to run towards the back room. Derek was right behind Jackson. They all found the girl on the couching, sitting up, tears in her eyes with a blank stare. When Jackson sat next to her she tried to fight him away. He had to wrap his arms around her to keep her from hitting or scratching him with her manicured nails.

"Lydia, it's okay." He said, whispering into her hair. "Lydia wake up, it's me. You're okay."

When she started to calm down, her breathing was labored and her whimpers between breaths was enough to make Jackson want to whine with her. His wolf was still antsy, now howling at Lydia's panic. He had to take deep lungfuls of breath, inhaling her strawberry scent, to help calm himself before he started yelling at the now crowding room. Derek was standing just on this side of the room, looking as stunned and Jackson was. Just behind Derek was Peter, the man’s eyebrows raised to his hairline with Isaac and Scott in the doorway. Both with identical looks of worry and confusion. 

This wasn't the first nightmare Jackson has dealt with from her. She has woken up screaming a few times before. The first time it nearly made his wolf jump out of his skin. The second time it was just as unexpected, but it took less time for him to get over his shock than it did the first. Since then, when he has slept over or if she has, he was partially asleep, waiting for her to scream like she was being attacked. Most nights she would seem fine, but other times and growing more recent as the summer progressed, she would wake up with her breath in his throat or with a bellowing scream.

Jackson had never told Derek or the others about her nightmares. It was normal, he guessed. At least he thought it was. Lydia would hardly speak to him about them. Sometimes she would mention details. Gruesome one about blood, clawed hands and long teeth. That was to start with, other times it was about whispering voices, constantly berating her, hounding at her, making it inescapable for her to get away from. She also mentioned a tree a few times, but that didn't jump out at Jackson as important. He didn't know how to help her and she would shut down when he would mention them to her. Just like that night at the pool and the two dead bodies.

He did mention that to others. Not about how Lydia really came to be there, but about what Stiles said. He didn't want to bring up the other boy, but he felt like he had to. After all, he knew more than Jackson did and it wasn't like Lydia was giving him anything. At the mention of the two bodies, Derek went rigid and Peter arched an eyebrow. At the details and what Jackson observed before he took Lydia home, he didn't smell anything but blood, concrete, and chlorine. Neither of the older wolves seemed to like the new information, but it didn't sound like the Alpha pack.

"Lydia, shh, calm down," he said to her, letting her try and control her breathing and wake up fully. When she finally seemed to relax, her heart beat still fast, but slower, he loosened his grip on her. "What was it this time," he asked slowly.

He saw her flick her eyes to the others, then duck her head towards her chest like she was embarrassed. When Jackson looked at every face other than Lydia's, silently telling them to get out, they all back away rather slowly. Derek was the last to leave, his face a little constipated in a way. There was no door, but at least it gave them the semblance of privacy. When they were alone, he turned back to Lydia, her hands shaking just littlest bit, but he could see it. 

He grabbed one of her hands softly, holding it firmly and then giving a little squeeze, trying to get her to talk to him.

"Come on Lydia," he whispered. "Tell me what happened. It might help."

She didn't answer for a while. The only thing marking the time they spent sitting there was the sun passing in the sky and the sound of their heart beating. Lydia's was still a little faster than his, but it was slowly down as time went by. The voices and footfalls of the others in the other room, Jackson could hear, but he ignored them in favor of his girlfriend. When it seemed like she wasn't going to say anything, he was about to move away, going to go get her a drink of water or do something for her. She squeezed his hand, then took a shaky breath before speaking.

"I saw...amber eyes,” she said between breaths, tearing running down her cheeks. “I saw the tree.”

Jackson didn’t know what to make of that. He didn’t like the sound of those. Especially the tree part. He couldn’t help but ignore the eyes she mentioned. He didn’t know if he liked that part or if he hated it. She wasn’t dreaming of someone else was she?

No that wasn’t it. If she was dreaming of someone else, especially in that way, then why was she in tears and shaking. Was it a bad dream with someone else? Was there no consent going on? Bad touching? He was starting to get a mental image that did nothing for his rising anxiety, but he had to keep a level head. She was the one who was freaking out, what good would it do if he followed.

Yeah he was getting distracted. 

"What is it with you and dreaming up trees?" He wondered aloud. At her somewhat dark look he kept quiet, but gave her small smile, hoping to lighten her mood.

She shook her head though, her green eyes dark, and her perfect brows creased with worry. "It is not trees that I dream."

"What do you mean?"

"It is the same one. The same tree over and over again," she said a slight shiver running through her body that Jackson could feel. "Every time I close my eyes, I can see it. It is the same tree, large and wide. Old looking too."

"You saw it again this time," he asked gently.

She nodded then stammered over her next words, her lips quivering. "This time it was different. It was...leaking blood."

"Blood?"

She nodded again. "A lot of it, coming through the bark," she said.

It was safe to say that it was eerily calm after that. Lydia was strangely silent and twitchy, Jackson was keeping close to her, while the other's did there best to not bring up the conversation they all no doubt heard. It wouldn't do much good anyway. What good would it bring dwelling on dreams? At least that is what Jackson told himself. He stayed close to her, while she read swiped at her tablet, looking for missing person reports or sightings that may fit Erica and Boyd in the state area. Jackson saw Isaac and Scott sitting near each other on the far side of the room, away from Derek no doubt, with a Beacon Hills map in their laps. Jackson was surprised Scott was even still here, but he chose to stay quiet about it for now. Derek was over by the table, looking through various books that Jackson had no idea what they were. Peter was sitting on the stairs, another book in his hand. 

A few times Jackson caught Peter looking at them, or rather looking at Lydia. Maybe he expected her to start screaming and shaking again, he wasn't sure. Peter seemed to have a thoughtful, maybe curious look on his face. Jackson didn't like it so when he caught Peter's glance, he arched an eyebrow at him, pulling Lydia a little closer to him. Peter just smirked and rolled his eyes. Jackson huffed but didn't say anything else. 

If anyone continued to think about Lydia's dream while they worked, no one spared the chance of mentioning it.

 

*** * * * * * ***

When they were turning to head back to town after completing the last ward, Stiles was a little exhausted. It took no more than two or three hours, to complete their round trip. In the end Stiles only carved the symbol into five trees. With each new ward he made, an invisible line would connect them to the existing ones. He could feel it in his head and his chest, like a little hum inside him. He couldn't explain his connection to the wards, but he could feel their presence. Like beacons in his mind, each connected by the tether to join them as one shield, one wall of protection. When he breathed in deep, focusing on his wards, they seemed to expand with his breath before relaxing again. It was a good feeling, similar to feeling his magic in his chest. It made him feel a little bit protected.

Of course when he felt felt something like the snap of rubber band on the back of his head, he stopped walking immediately. He reached up, turning around, thinking he would feel a bump and see the culprit behind him, but nothing was there on both accounts. Again he felt another snap, a push then a release. He realized it was in his mind. He felt his magic rise inside him, illuminating itself from the small constant flame to an engorged fireball. 

Something just broke through his newly made wards.

"Well that was fast," Stile said to himself.

Danny heard him, turning around to look at where Stiles was still standing with his hand to the back of his head. "What's up?"

"I think...something just came through my wards." Stiles said as he kept with the feeling. It felt like a breach, an invasion, in his mind. That was the best he could describe it. His magic was telling him that his wards had been broken through. That made him worry. Maybe they were not strong enough. Maybe he did them wrong. He thought he did everything he read from the book right. He chose one of the best ways to create a ward, something meaningful to him, something that was able to power with his magic and his intents. He felt them all connect in his mind. He could even feel the barrier now, even though he wasn't standing too close to it, he could feel it like electricity or a wave of energy in the air.

Danny was alert, his head twisting from left to right, thinking he could see what came through. "Where is it?"

Stiles searched his mind for a moment, feeling the connection of his wards, the pentagon shape felt like a dull pulsing. He concentrated on where the breach came from, pinpointing it towards the northwestern point. That was back from where they came. Turning around, he started to run, with Danny falling behind him. They quickly made there way back through the woods, Stiles following the tether of his ward line in his head to where he needed to go. Eventually they came back to around where his last symbol was carved into the large ash tree. 

Looking around nothing came out at them suddenly, but it didn't mean much to him. He was sure his spells worked and his wards were up. He was positive of that thanks to the the continuous hum in his brain and the line than marked his protection around the town. He was feeling more nervous by the minute as they looked around, Stiles clearly able to see his carving on the tree a couple feet away. Usually when something was afoot, Stiles had a wolf as backup, but that wasn't the case now. He trusted Danny, given that they have protected each other before and they both had magic, but it still didn't alleviate the jittery feeling in his gut.

"So where was it," Danny asked as he breathed a little hard. 

There was nothing and no one around but them. Trees and dead leaves everywhere else, but no person nor creature. Except that is what he originally thought up until he saw the blur of something fly past him and bury itself into a tree nearby. They both looked over to see an arrow deep into the bark, quivering at the end from the blow. It was made of smooth tan woods and its feather were white and brown.

"Stiles," he heard Danny say. His friend wasn't looking at him but in the direction to the east. 

Two men were standing between the trees. One with a bow raised and an arrow aimed at them. The men were full grown, fair skinned, one with longer black hair, the other with short pale blonde hair. Both dressed in green and brown clothes that looked like they belonged in the Renaissance Fair. Green tunics, with brown pants and boots. Each had a thick belt around their hips. The blonde had the bow and a quiver on his back, the other had a long dagger strapped to his thigh.

They stared at them with such intense gazes, green eyes, grim expressions on their faces. Unwavering postures as they began to walk up to them. If they were hunters, they were not what Stiles was used to. There was no black leather or cargo pants. Not to mention no guns. The closer they got, the more antsy Stiles became. He noticed more details about them though. Their clothes were made of fine material, maybe silk or cotton. They were leather cuffs around their wrists, most likely as protection, each branded with different symbols that Stiles couldn't begin to recognize. The bow was smoothed and wooden, also carved but in an elegant looking design like it was an art piece instead of a weapon. The belts were made of the same leather as the cuffs, tough and thick. The blade on the other was long and silver, slightly curved, and the handle wrapped also in leather.

"Where is the mage," the one with long, black hair said, his voice harsh and cutting. He spoke English but it was heavy with another accent. He could place the accent, but it didn't sound European.

It took Stiles a moment to put together the strange man's words. "What," he said without thinking.

"The mage, _witch_ ," the man said again. "Where are they?"

"I am afraid we do not know what you are talking about," Danny said sternly, his voice rough. "There is no mage here."

The one with pale blonde hair laughed. It sounded musical almost airy before he spoke, his voice having the same accent as the other. "You think us fools?"

Stiles held up his hands slowly in a placating motion. "No, no. It is true, there is no mage here. I'm not even sure what a mage is." Blacked hair guy looked towards his companion, a dark sneer on his face. Stiles was barely able to see his ear behind his hair. He saw two silver studs on the side of the appendage, but he also managed to see the smooth skin rising to a point. He turned to the other one seeing clearly the point of his ears. Stiles felt himself gasp before he could retain any semblance of a poker face. "You're elves."

They both regarded him like he was a bug. The pale blonde inclined his head towards his friend. "That is Kyram, I am Flynn."

"Regardless of our names," Kyram growled, stepping towards Stiles, his hand on the hilt of his dagger. "We want to know where the mage is."

Danny also seemed to step closer to Stiles, his shoulder brushing against the back of Stiles'. "You have us at a disadvantage."

"Do we," Flynn said with sarcasm.

"Yeah, you apparently know of a mage here, whereas we do not and we live here," Stiles said, his brain finally coming back him after having an internal freak out. Elves! Elves are real. But then of course they were. Werewolves and witches, duh. 

"Do not play games with us, children," Kyram asked then pointed towards the tree with Stiles' carving. "These wards were freshly made."

”Which means that the mage is close,” Flynn finished for his friend.

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t really know what a mage was. Apparently these two wanted him. But why? More importantly how could they have known about this mage if they were here. Did they follow him from somewhere?

”Any user adept with magic could have made these wards,” Danny said confidently. “There is no mage here.”

“You are lying witch,” Flynn said. “These type of protection spells are tricky to execute and need a great source of magic to get them to stick and to keep them going otherwise they burn out too quickly.”

”What,” Stiles said looking at Danny over his shoulder. “Is he right?”

Danny didn’t say anything. He barely flicked his eyes to his own. Instead the only tell Stiles saw was he jaw tightening, the muscles bulging just a little. 

Stiles didn’t know this. If he read about it, he never registered it. It made sense. Magic is not a constant. It needs either a source to help it continue or it needs continual maintaince. So what does a mage have to do with that? Can’t all magic users do it? Did Danny know of a mage being in town?

”Like he said,” Stiles said, hoping to sound confident too. “There is no mage here.”

”Well you may know about him,” Kyram said holding up a finger to point at him. Then he slid his finger over to direct it at Danny instead. “This one seems to know plenty.”

When Kyram made to step closer to Danny, Stiles moved with him, holding onto Danny’s wrist at his side, squeezing tightly. Danny had somehow put himself in front of Stiles, his back keeping him behind. 

“We don’t know anything,” Stiles called over Danny keeping an eye on the arrow still pointing at both of them.

”What do you want this mage for anyway,” Danny asked in a hard tone

Kyram laughed. Musical and chilling at the same time. “Why to snuff out his magic...permanently.” 

Danny went rigid in his back and he very discreetly edged himself more in front of Stiles. Stiles felt his friend’s fingers brushing against his side, trying to offer some sort of comfort.

Stiles wasn’t comforted. How could he be so stupid? He should have known better than to go trampsing through the woods playing with magic. Even if he had good intentions, he still didn’t know what he was doing. This was also Beacon Hills, of course shit was going to hit the fan. There were other creatures, monsters out there who could always come along. That was one reason why Stiles wanted to do the wards, but he didn’t think of anything coming along when he was trying to erect those walls. It never crossed his mind. 

Let’s also not forge this Alpha pack who was no doubt squatting somewhere in town. Hell Stiles probably should be thanking the Heavens that he and Danny were not having their throats torn out right now. He knew all of this and yet here they were facing two Elves with weapons pointed at their faces and the twitching feeling of danger in the back of his head. 

How could he be so stupid? He put himself and Danny in danger. He should never have brought Danny out here. If it wasn’t for him, his friend would be at home, safe. He couldn’t let Danny get hurt, not because of his mistake. This was his fault. 

“Why,” Stiles asked without thinking. As the Elves eyes met his, he stammered on. “What has this mage done to you? Why do you want them dead?”

"Because That is what Elves do,” Danny said angrily in front of him. “Their kind hate other magic users, viewing them as lesser beings. To them, Elves are the purest because of their immortality, which they get from their own magic.”

Flynn flashed a smug grin. "You make us sound like supremacists."

"More like savages,” Danny spat. 

“Careful witch,” Kyram said, holding the handle of his blade tighter. “I have no problem collecting your head for my collection.”

"You kill for sport,” Danny said. “You won’t pass up the opportunity for the mage.”

Kyram nodded elegantly, a small smile on his face. “Of course not. Which is why you are not dead yet.”

Stiles felt his heart skip a few beats. “What?”

"Well you are here, standing by the wards you so happen to not know about. And you,” Kyram said looking a Danny with intense green eyes that could give Lydia a run for her money. To Stiles horror, the elf pulled his blade free, holding it nimbly in his long fingers. “You know more than you are letting on. So maybe I should kill your friend and then get you to tell me where my mage is.”

There wasn’t time to say anything, just react. Stiles pushed against his flame of magic, pulling it from his body. As Kyram started to move, he kept a tight hold to Danny’s arm, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as his magic coursed through his body. As the knife reflected the sun above, he pushed his magic into the blade, keeping his eyes on the blade, willing it to get hot, scorching even. It worked quickly, the blade lighting up like a light bulb. Going from shiny steel to illuminating orange. Kyram screamed, raising his arm in surprise and dropping the blade. Flynn temporarily lowered his bow, looking at his companion in shock.

There was a red mark on the dark haired man's hand, angry and pink on his palm and over his thumb. Danny was immediately backing himself and Stiles away, keeping Stiles behind him as they made to leave. They were most likely not going to get far when they turned tail and ran, but they had to take a chance. But when Kyram looked at them with his cold stare with Flynn holding his bow down towards the ground, kneeling just a little over his friend, Stiles watched the man smile a wolfish grin that made his hairs stand on end.

"Well now," he said with a tinge of awe in his voice mixed with a smugness that Stiles didn't like. "Isn't this a surprise. I am curious as to how you do not know. I must say I did not see _you_ as the mage."

Stiles felt Danny catch his breath. Stiles looked at him and then back at the Elves who were looking at them. No, they were not looking at Danny, they were looking at him. He tightened his grip on Danny, tugging just a little, trying to get Danny to turn around. Turn and run with him. They may have magic, but he was no where near confident enough to go up against immortal Elves with weapons. Not to mention one with a bow and arrow where he wouldn't need to move a step to shoot them.

"His eyes are gorgeous," Flynn said in thought.

"Indeed," Kyram said, standing upright with the other. "They would make for a nice trophy."

Danny turned his head to look at Stiles over his shoulder. Seeing how his own eyes went wide and his mouth went agape for a split moment. Stiles didn't have to ask to know what they were all talking about. He knew from the horror on his friend's face that he just revealed what the Elves wanted. Stiles' eyes were glowing, shimmering with their hidden fire. Sparkling topaz, with hints of ruby and honey.

No this couldn't be right. Stiles was not a mage. He couldn't be. He didn't even no what that meant. Somehow though, he doubted reasoning would sway the full grown men in front of them.

Danny acted without his knowledge, pushing his hands outward, glowing a faint green. In quick succession, the earth shifted around the two Elves, raising and then dipping away from them. Making them fall forward. Turning around, Danny pulling Stiles away from the scene, a look of fear on his face. "Run!"

They ran. Heading back the way they came, trying to get back to Stiles' jeep. Stiles felt his body burning with his magic, wanting him to use it, release to help him. He didn't know how though. His fear and confusion was clouding his thoughts. The idea of him being a mage was repeating itself in his head. Rushing past the trees in their way, they kicked up dust and leaves in their wake. Danny was to his right, running with him, looking back as he kept pace with him. Stiles didn't want to look back. He learned not to after the number of times he fell into a trap that was in front of him. He had to mind his footing and make sure he and Danny made it safely to his jeep.

He heard a loud gruff from his right, turning his head to see Danny being tackled to the ground by Kyram. Both of them rolling over the forest floor, leaves and twigs sticking to their clothing. Stiles made to get to him, but was hit in the right side of his head by something hard. Stumbling to the ground from the force, clutching his face, his vision swam. Tears immediately came to his eyes from the hard sting. He could feel a cut on his temple, stretching into his hairline just over his ear. It was a heated pain that made him wince.

Out of the corner of his left eye he could see blurred figures of Kyram and Danny wrestling with each other, but he couldn't make out details. He heard Danny say something that sounded like a spell, but he wasn't sure what the effect was. He wasn't able to see because then he got whacked again in his shoulder, throbbing pain radiating down his arm and up into his neck. He went down onto the ground, yelping at the pain. Standing just a few feet from him, aiming an arrow at him was Flynn. His pale blonde hair shining in sunlight. He had a tense look on his face, his own green eyes void of emotion, his mouth down turned into a sneer.

"Nice try mage," he said callously. "But we have centuries of hunting prey and magic users. You are not at all in their league."

"You don't have to do this," he said, trying to get into a kneeling position. He was wincing with each movement his shoulder made. He felt like he pulled something, but he couldn't heal himself yet. He needed his energy. He reached for his magic, trying to think of a spell to get him out of this. His head was killing him and he could hear Danny grunting and Kyram snarling at him. He didn't dare take his eyes off Flynn, but he had to help Danny. He couldn't let Danny get hurt. 

"Don't try to beg for mercy," Flynn spat as he pulled his string tighter. "It won't save you anyway. Have some dignity and face your demise at my arrow. Like the magic user's before you."

Stiles didn't think as he acted, he reached out with his magic bringing it out of him as easily as breathing, his eyes never leaving the arrow head that pointed straight at him. Whether it was his fear that drove him, his desire to help Danny or even himself, or his innate want to wipe the smirk off Flynn's face, he couldn't tell where his magic stemmed from. It could have been all of it, but whatever the source, his magic responded. He saw Flynn release his hand, the bowstring springing forward to let the arrow fly. Never taking his eyes away from the metallic point, he pushed harder at his magic, no spell coming to mind, just an instinct that he was hardly aware of. He didn't want to die and he definitely didn't want Danny to die. He had to help.

He wanted that arrow pointing away from him. He willed it away from him. As the air split through the air, his magic shot out in a wave, intent on the target his eyes was focused on. It all happened so quick that it was flash of movement. The arrow flipped around in mid-air to fly back for where it came, never seeming to break it's flight. Before Stiles could blink, he saw it bury itself into Flynn's chest, just to the right of his heart. The elf fell backward from the shot, hitting the ground with a thud. 

Stiles moved without taking in the sight, ignoring the pounding in his head and the needle points radiating through his arm. Reaching down as fast as he could manage to grab an arrow from Flynn's quiver on his back, he ran over to where Kyram was kneeling over Danny, the dagger inches from Danny's throat. He was struggling to keep the blade away from him. If he moved too much, he could lose leverage, if he moved his legs, he could give Kyram too much leeway to push down further. Danny's eyes were focused on the elf above him, sheer determination in his eyes, Kyram had deadly intent in his. That was all Stiles saw as he gripped the arrow tight in his hand and he slammed it into the elf's back between his shoulder blades. 

He heard a grunt of pain, followed by a slight gurgle and everything went still. For a split moment, no one moved. When Danny pushed the elf away from him, the arrow still in his back, Danny scrambled away, getting to his feet. Stiles couldn't look away from Kyram. His eyes wide and unseeing, his mouth open with the tiniest bit of blood at the corner. No longer gripping the blade he had which laid forgotten on the ground. 

"Stiles," Danny croaked, before swallowing hard. Stepping closer to Stiles. The sudden movement made Stiles flinch, his eyes going wide on their own. Danny's face contorted into a hurt look, but he held up his hands in a placating, calming manner. "Stiles, it's okay. It's okay, it's over."

"I-," Stiles stopped. He couldn't look away from Kyram, the arrow in his back, making his lean against it awkwardly. The red blood starting to soak the ground below them. It wasn't much, but it was enough to notice. His already fair skin, now going to get paler. Even though a part of Stiles knew he did the right thing, saving Danny and himself, he saw Kyram's pained face, then slacking into one that was void of emotion. Restful and unflinching. His body following, going limb as a board now. He couldn't look away. He didn't see an elf, or a supernatural creature. He saw a person, one who looked as human as him. He was dead and it was Stiles' doing. 

He killed him. He willingly, actively, killed him. There was no magic that did it this time. There were no shrieking monsters. There was no flames that burst from the ground at his emotions. This was him in control, intently seeking for a way out and using his magic and willpower to do it. He was the one who put Flynn's arrow into his chest. He was the one who took one of those arrows and made the conscious decision to stab it into Kyram's back. It was like looking at the dead bodies of the hunter's all over again. Only Kyram wasn't burned black and gray, he was normal, like he was still alive. Still as human looking as he presented himself to be, until you realized the truth. He didn't really think about it when he plunged the arrow down, he just had to do it. He had to save Danny, save himself. He succeeded and he killed two people to do it.

These were no monsters, with sharp teeth or long claws. No glowing eyes or vicious growls.

And Stiles killed them.

"Stiles." He heard Danny call his name, but he didn't recognize it. He was still staring at Kyram's eyes. Green and unfocused, staring at nothing and never will again.

"Stiles. Stiles!" 


	11. Some Fears Spoken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And away we go with another round for the week! I love your guys' comments and guess about where the story is going and what you suspect will happen. As for your wishes, well keep reading and you might see them fulfilled, but I can't divulge my secrets. Thank you all for you love and comments weekly. I am so proud to have gotten this far and to have reached so many of you. Don't worry there is more to come and we will soon get to the pack and Stiles.

Danny could see the change in Stiles like the flip of a switch. His body was incredibly still and he stood staring at Kyram’s body like it was the most horrible, terrifying thing he could see and still not look away from. 

Danny didn’t know what to do or say in this moment. He was as tongue tied as Stiles seemed to be. The boy was rigid as a board, with only his chest rising in quick gasps of air. His fist still clenched tight at his sides. Danny could feel the magic around the boy slowly receding back into his body. He felt it earlier when Stiles lashes out at Kyram, burning his knife, then again a moment before Kyram came close to driving that same knife through Danny’s neck, before Stiles saved him. 

Stiles saved him, again. 

Yet the boy looked like he just witnessed a catastrophe. It was like after the wraiths, after Stiles found out what he had done to them and to the hunter’s who tried to kill him. Stiles was near having a panic attack, restraining himself from doing anything, fearful for what he had done.

No Danny couldn’t watch that. He couldn’t let Stiles go through that.

”Stiles.” He said gently, trying to urge the boy to look at him. It didn’t happen in the slightest. “Stiles!”

He saw him start to shake, his hands still tight in fists. But not his body was trembling, it was subtle but it was enough that had Danny moving. Lunging forward, ignoring the jerk Stiles made backward at his movement, he pulled at Stiles hands, wrapping both fists in his own. 

“Stiles look at me,” he said trying to keep his voice calm. He was watching Stiles about to fall off the edge and have a panic attack. Danny did not want to think of what that would look like. He squeezed his hands more firmly, respecting his name again.

Slowly Stiles dragged his gaze away from the dead elf’s body and looked at Danny. He held Stiles’ gaze, looking at the deep honey colored eyes, the ones that were glowing not ten minutes ago with a hidden fire that that could only be explained as magical. 

When Stiles was about to speak, fighting over his words, Danny interjected, “Don’t even."

"But-"

"No!" Danny didn't care if his voice was more forceful than he meant it to be. He couldn't let Stiles fall apart because of this. He saved their lives. For the second time Stiles has saved him. Danny felt a mixture of guilt for having to put Stiles in that position, but also relief. Danny didn't want to die and he was glad Stiles felt the same, for himself and for Danny. "You did what you had to."

"I killed them," Stiles whispered, almost wrecked.

"They didn't give you a choice," Danny said, still holding onto Stiles, squeezing his hands, trying to ground him, trying to get him to _listen_ to his words. "It's just like the with the wraiths."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Stiles' eyes changed. They soft brown changing to a dull topaz, with flecks of gold close to the pupil. Danny would have pointed it out, except now was not the time. Aside from Stiles' magic surfacing in slightly more noticeable ways, he was now surprised to see Stiles angry. Stiles jerked his hands away, rummaging them through his lengthening hair, and walking away from Danny a few steps. Danny heard his friend taking in deep breaths, letting them out in shaky pants.

"I do not need a reminder." Stiles spat out, not facing Danny. "But they," he said gesturing to the two elves on the ground, "they were not monsters. They look human to me. They had no claws, no fangs, no glowing eyes. Weapons or no, I still killed them."

"They were monsters," Danny said not moving as Stiles paced. "They were going to kill you Stiles. They were going to kill me." That got Stiles to stop. He looked at Danny with equal parts fear and sadness in his eyes. Danny saw the momentary flash of understanding in Stiles eyes, so he jumped at the opportunity. "Is that what you would have wanted? Did you want them to have the chance to finish what they started?"

Stiles eyes went a little wider at the question, but he shook his head anyway. 

"Did you want to die?" Danny pressed on, watching Stiles give another head shake. "Did you want me to die," Danny went on.

"No!"

The force of the exclamation was enough to make Danny stare. Stiles was still clenching his hands tightly, but his eyes looked a little glassy. Stiles just shook his head after a moment, wiping his hands down his face, then resuming his pacing. At least he looked less panicky and more like a caged, restless animal. Danny let him have his space now, standing perfectly still, just being the silent support that he hoped would help Stiles. When Stiles did start talking his voice was bitter.

"I'm sorry," he said, making Danny look on in surprise. "I never should have brought you out here. I should have done this alone, or maybe not at all. I didn't even think it would work anyway, I just wanted to try. I wanted to give it a shot and hope that I could pull it off. Maybe then we wouldn't have to look over our shoulders every day. I just wanted to do something, anything to help. Apparently it didn't work. The wards are up, but ineffective since not a few minutes later they came through like it was nothing. Of course they would. Why wouldn't they? It's not like I know what I am doing and I-"

"Stiles!"

"I'm sorry!" Stiles said with tears now starting to gather in his eyes. His hands grasping his hair so tightly that Danny thought he would pull it out by the handful. Stiles face was pink and his eyes watery. His teeth biting his bottom lip and the look of anger, disgust, and fear on his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't think. I-I...didn't _know_."

Danny could feel his own heart constricting at watching Stiles beat himself up. Not just over killing the two elves, but also feeling like it was all his fault to begin with. That was crazy. He couldn't have known. Neither of them could have. Not one of them could see the future. So how could Stiles be angry with himself for making the choice to try something with his magic. How dare he think that he brought this on them.

"Stop," Danny said walking towards him, pulling him to stop him from moving away. He held Stiles' upper arms, keeping him in front of him. "This is not your doing. They were coming no matter what we would have done today. This was not because you wanted to try something with your magic."

"Isn't it," Stiles muttered sounding defeated. "You heard them. You heard what they were after. They wanted me...a mage."

Danny didn't know what to say to that. It was true. Even now, with his emotions of self-hatred and guilt, Danny could sense Stiles' magic. This close to him, he could feel it like a thrumming, a warmth that drew him in. It has gotten steadily stronger of the past few weeks. Danny tried to not notice, but he couldn't ignore it. His own Spark was reacting to Stiles', reacting like a magnetic field that he could feel. His own Spark was telling him that Stiles was strong, had an air about him that was not entirely human. He had no doubt Deaton could feel the same, but he tried to not notice. Danny had never felt that before in someone. Here and there, he sensed someone had the potential in their Sparks, strong character and will, but it was never as strong as it was with Stiles. The more Stiles practiced and learned magic, the stronger he could feel it. Like a little tingle under his skin.

Danny had heard of mages, but never did he imagine knowing one. His knowledge of them was limited, but he knew a little. They were uncommon and they were rather powerful, but he didn't know much past that. After seeing how quickly Stiles has learned spells and when he exhibited some manifestations when he was having that nightmare, his magic reflecting his subconscious emotions, he thought it might mean something. He thought Deaton did too, but of course the man was not going to share, at least not yet. Maybe Deaton only suspected a few things. Did Deaton suspect Stiles was a mage?

Danny sure as hell didn't. It never crossed his mind in the possibilities. Even after Stiles eyes glowed. They glowed! The whiskey orbs turning to a liquid fire was not something he ever thought was possible. Yet ever since that night, when Stiles would practice magic with him, occasionally his eyes would glow. It would be faint, but it was there. Danny watched the change happen a few times, wondering if he would be able to see it or if it happened to be his imagination at times. Sure enough, he could recount the number of times he saw the shift in Stiles' eyes. It was a sight to see and it left Danny with a lot of questions and no answers. 

Until now.

"You are not to blame," Danny said with certainty. "I am not sure what this all means, but I do know, that this is not you fault. You did not ask for this to happen. You did what you could to not let it happen."

"They came through my wards," Stiles said sadly. 

"Your wards cannot protect against everything. Even I can sense they are strong, but there are other's out there, magic users who are unaffected by wards, unless those wards are much more powerful to withstand them," he said, trying to reason past the guilt in Stiles' eyes. "You cannot expect to stop everything Stiles. It doesn't work that way, no matter how much you wish it would. Sooner or later, something will find a way through."

"Then what good is having the wards?"

"They protect this town from other things. Creatures less powerful, but no less dangerous."

"Like what," Stiles asked in exasperation. "Pixies?"

Danny nodded. "Actually yeah," ignoring Stiles' wide eyes as Danny let him go, taking a little step back. "Along with others. Your wards are strong, anyone with an ounce of magic can tell that. They can protect against a lot of monsters out there. Like wraiths for instance."

That got Stiles attention. Danny could see the glazed over look in Stiles eyes as he thought back to the start of the summer, remembering the grotesque monsters with dead-like skin, gnarly claws, and piercing screams. It was not something Danny liked to remember, but he thought it might get Stiles to feel better. Knowing that monsters like that, monsters drawn to magic and bright souls, were not strong enough to pass through his wards. Maybe it would help Stiles realize that his wards were doing something.

"Really," Stiles asked a little hopeful look in his eyes.

Danny nodded. "They do enough for now," he said referring to Stiles wards. "They can always be improved when you learn more. And knowing you, you will indeed learn as much as you can."

Stiles huffed out a strained laugh, but he seemed more calm now. His eyes were still clouded with sadness though. "I just don't understand what all is happening. With those two bodies found, the Alpha pack, Erica and Boyd missing, my night-"

He stopped, making Danny look at him with concern. He knew Stiles was going to say nightmares. It was not a secret that Stiles had nightmares. Danny has witness a few already. The one he had to wake him up from was the worst it seemed, but all of them left a cold feeling in his chest. Stiles was often sweating, tossing and turning, mumbling incoherently. Stiles would always wake up from his nightmares. Usually with gasp or in two situations, a faint scream, ones that he would muffle in his arm or pillow before it went full blown. Danny has only tried to help once before with it. Asking if he was okay, if he wanted to talk about it, and Stiles claimed up faster than any time Danny has ever seen in the boy. He told him he was fine and that he just wanted to go back to sleep. Danny would go back to his spot on the floor, his ears still listening to Stiles, turning on his sheets, suppressing his breathing. Even though Danny could hear the little gasps here and there.

Danny hated that. He hated that Stiles wouldn't talk to him. But then what could Danny say to make it easier. After the horrors that Stiles has gone through already, there was bound to be emotional scars left behind to go with the physical ones. 

When Danny woke him up from the big one where Stiles magic manifested and his eyes glowed for the first time, he thought Stiles would keep quiet again but he didn't. He was actually forthcoming. It made Danny feel a little better. He felt like he was actually getting somewhere with Stiles and his nightmares. It wasn't until the one that took place a few days after that when they passed out on the floor after a night of practicing a couple spells and binge watching Orange in the Black on Netflix that Stiles had another nightmare, this one making him shake himself awake with a deep heaving breaths. Once again Danny tried to help, only for Stiles to pull away and head to the bathroom. He came back a little while later, looking tired, but willing to go back to sleep, saying he just wanted to forget about it.

Each nightmare he witnessed made Danny's heart break and his stomach drop. He could only imagine how many he didn't witness when he wasn't there.

"One step at a time," Danny said finally. "The Alpha pack is not your concern, that is the packs."

"And yet they could have been the ones to find us today too." Stiles said dryly. "This was a stupid idea."

"According to Lydia, there has been no further advances on their part. Not for over a while. I am not saying they are still not a threat, but I doubt they will waste time with two teenagers," Danny said with as much confidence as he muster. Of course he was still worried about the Alpha pack, but he wasn't about to let Stiles blame himself for them too. "So, buck up, stop blaming yourself for any of this."

"But I-"

"Stiles I swear I will tape your mouth shut," Danny said threateningly. When Stiles rolled his eyes he continued. "You did what you had to do. Monsters come in all shapes and sizes. You know that more than anyone. If you had not acted, I don't even want to think about where either of us would be right now. You saved us. _You_ did."

Stiles looked at him for a long moment, his eyes searching his face. Danny gazed back just as much, both unflinching. He could still feel the warmth from Stiles' body near him, feel the tingling from his Spark. Stiles' honey colored eyes never left his as he looked for whatever he was hoping to see. Strength? Understanding? Lies? Whatever Stiles saw, it was enough to make him almost shrink. Danny watched as his shoulder dropped, his face falling, eyes going to the forest floor below them. 

Danny didn't know if that was a win, but he would take it for now and build on it later. "Come on," he said, reaching to gently turn Stiles away from the bodies, "Let's get out of here."

Making Stiles turn around they started to head to where Stile's had parked his jeep. They had gotten a little topsy, turvy after there rolling around and running. They were banged up a little, mostly Stiles, so they needed to get back and deal with those injuries. The cut on Stiles cheek was still leaking a little blood, but it was starting to crust over from the growing afternoon air. As they started to make their way back, Stiles stopped at Kyram's body. Danny thought he was standing in shock again when Stiles bent down and grabbed the slightly curved dagger from the ground beside the body.

At the incredulous Danny sent him, Stiles shrugged, holding the dagger in his hand lightly. "A little extra protection never hurt."

Danny scoffed, but said nothing else. When they continued to head away from the bodies, Danny made a split minute decision. He allowed Stiles to keep going ahead of him. Danny didn't know how Stiles would feel about it, but Danny knew that it would be better if this was done. No questions. No evidence for some potential wolves to find. 

Danny turned around, his hand instinctively grasping the necklace at his neck, pulling it from beneath his shirt. His hand closely firmly around the body temperature warmed medal. Muttering quickly under his breath, trying to make this quick, he said the spell he needed. Watching closely he saw as the dirt around the bodies of the elves started to turn to a loose, slightly sandy material. As he watched, the bodies were sinking, more and more being pulled under into the earth below. Danny continued to mutter the spell, ensuring it did it's job until the bodies were gone. It took no more than a couple moments, but it was enough to leave his body feeling flush, a little perspiration on his forehead and his heart beating faster in his chest. Eventually, the bodies were buried completely, leaving nothing behind. It was only then Danny stopped the spell. The earth would turn back to mostly solid dirt on it's own.

He felt withered after that, but still strong enough to continue. Leaving the woods behind, he went after Stiles who thankfully didn't notice as he haphazardly made zig-zags around trees and sticks and rocks. He caught up to him, both stepping away from the woods in silence, heading back into the town they were trying to take care of.

 

  *** * * * * * ***

"You know Noah there is no need to always come around when I have an animal on the table,” Deaton said with a hint of a smile.

Noah was not going to ask or think about how Deaton knew he was there when he literally just walked in. He let himself into the clinic, thank goodness no one else was present. More than once Noah had thought about asking the vet when he would get a some help, at least someone to help with the front desk, especially with calls or walk-ins. He still couldn't help but think that as he made his way to the back, finding the man bent over a golden retriever, examining there vitals and writing them down on a chart on his clipboard. Apparently, the man didn't need help in being told when someone had arrived. 

"One of these days I will sneak up on you," Noah said feigning annoyance. 

Deaton raised an eyebrow at him. "You are starting to sound like a certain teenager."

Noah chuckled. "Well if I wasn't working so much..." He let the sentence drop, knowing Deaton would put the rest together. Ever since the two bodies had shown up he was working more hours to his already long days. With the shortage of deputies at the station, it was strenuous enough to keep shifts occupied. Not to mention the mountain of paper work that followed. There wasn't much in the way of available hands to help, which had the Sheriff pulling more overtime. 

There were available positions at the station, but he knew they wouldn't be filled quickly. Strangely no one wanted to take a position in law enforcement in a town where the fatality rates were rising and it's officers were among those casualties.  _Shocking!_

"I take it that news on the two bodies was not good," Deaton asked turning back to the dog on his table. The dog was cute, it's whole body pliant and patient as Deaton prodded and check every thing he needed to. The golden fur illuminated slightly from the fluorescent light overhead. The Sheriff stepped closer to pet the dog, smiling softly as the dog licked and butted against his hand as Deaton wrote down his numbers and findings on the sheet.

Noah sighed heavily, scratching behind the dog's ears. "Not in the slightest. There is no evidence as I expected there wouldn't be. Both had their throats slashed. One was found in the pool, the other on the lifeguard chair."

Deaton hummed. "And no evidence to support any theories."

"None that would make sense or hold up in court." Deaton turned away from him and dog, taking the clipboard with him to set it on the opposite counter. Noah continued talking, knowing the vet was still listening. "What makes it even worse is what is known about the bodies."

"Such as?"

"They were found with their throats slashed. One had a large hold in his chest. The one in the pool was drained of blood. The coroner divulged to me, repeatedly mind you, that the man had little blood left in his body, which explains why there wasn't more blood in the pool," Noah said, running a hand through his hair.

Deaton looked at the Sheriff with a hard look. "That much blood loss is very uncommon."

"By normal  _human_  standards it is." Deaton nodded, his forehead wrinkled with concern and thought. Noah knew the man was thinking through the different scenarios, explanations as to why one man had been drained of nearly all his blood and the other was left with a slit throat and fist sized hole in his chest. "What are you thinking, Alan?"

At his name the vet looked at Noah, seeming to temporarily forget he was not alone, before leaning against the counter, his arms crossing. "I am not sure. Vampires come to mind along with a few other creatures, but none have been around these parts for years. What is more striking is two bodies, killed in nearly the same way, one with most blood intact, the other with most missing. What time did the coroner say they were approximately killed?"

"About eight hours before they were found."

"Both?"

At Noah's nod, the man's eyes went unfocused, far away as he retreated back into his mind. "Strange."

"It was not a pretty sight. The poor Martin girl was shaking when I arrived and had a firm grip on Stiles' sleeve when I had them give their statements to a deputy."

Deaton nodded. "Stiles did mention the girl looked rather...put off. She has dealt with quite a bit in recent months."

"Stiles? Stiles told you about this," Noah asked incredulously.

The vet simply cocked an eyebrow at him before stepping away from the counter, taking off his stethoscope and running his hands over the dog, first to soothe, then to delve deeper, running over the muscles and bones, looking for anything out of the norm. "He and Danny told me that morning, after they left that is."

"What were they doing up...wait that doesn't matter. Why were you told? Danny was there, I didn't see him. When were you going to mention that you knew most of the details already," Noah asked accusingly, crossing his arms.

Deaton just eyed him a little sheepish, but otherwise not bothered. "Well after dealing with one Stilinski for a couple hours a day and their stream of questions over magic and creatures, the peacefulness is rather captivating."

"Hey I don't-" 

Noah stopped, having just heard all of Deaton's words. He felt his eyes go wide as Deaton intentionally kept his eyes down. Writing on the clipboard, face looking rather bored. "He’s agreed to learn from you?”

At Deaton's nod, the Sheriff felt his shoulder slump and a heavy breath run out of his lungs. He didn't realize how much he had worried about Stiles' magic until now. Every day he thought about it. Every time he saw his son, he wanted to ask him how he was doing, really doing. He wanted to talk to him about his magic, about what he was learning, if he was gaining control and understanding. He wanted to talk to him about the important things. The things that he knew Stiles was keeping from him, the things Noah has been intentionally turning a blind eye to for the better part of a year.

He would never stop feeling guilty about telling him the truth long ago, but it was a choice he stood by, just to help give his son some normalcy. A lot of good that did.

"That's good," he said, feeling a little weight leaving his shoulder. At least Stiles had someone to learn from. "I glad he has agreed to that."

"The boy has always been resourceful," Deaton said with a small smile. "He would have gotten help in other ways if he wanted."

Noah nodded. "True, but his pack doesn't know as much about magic as you do. At least I suspect that to be true."

Deaton seemed to have a shadow pass of his face quickly before it was gone. Noah wasn't sure if he was mistaking it or not. It was not often that Deaton showed his emotions anyway. The man stopped doing that years ago, back when he was an Emissary, back before the fire, before Claudia. So he didn't expect that the man would start again now. Still, Noah thought he saw something. Was the momentary off look about the pack?

"How is the pack doing," Noah asked, genuinely curious. "You mentioned before about some rough going. Everything alright?"

Deaton nodded, but didn't answer straight away. To anyone else, Noah would have been concerned about that. But after a long history of dealing with the vet's communication skills, it was something he got used to. He could never really tell when Deaton was lying. Nor could he tell if he was thinking about excuses or just thinking about something else entirely. The man was a wild card to put it frankly.

"The pack is doing fine," the man said after moment. "Scott comes by weekly with updates."

"I have not seen Scott in a while. Are you working him too hard?" It was meant as a light jab, but Deaton didn't seem to notice. The man seemed to focus solely on his papers, writing down whatever he was currently thinking about. That made Noah do a double take.

Now that he really thought about it, he hadn't seen Scott in a long while, months in fact. The boy used to be over at their house weekly, sometimes daily depending on what was going on. That hasn't been the case for quite some time. Noah couldn't remember when Scott was last seen walking through his door. The more he thought about it, the more he noticed that it was a big change. Stiles hadn't even mentioned it. He couldn't even remember Stiles even mentioning Scott's name, especially not recently. The only person Stiles talked about when they were able to have a conversation was Danny. 

Danny was the only person coming and going anymore. Aside from that Martin girl, he couldn't recall seeing Stiles with anyone else recently. That struck him as odd. Stiles and Scott were always together. Thick as thieves ever since they were young. The two boys were practically joined at the hip for as long as Noah could remember. Where one was, the other was likely to follow. Yet, now it didn't seem to bare truth. Now it was like Danny and Stiles were everywhere.

Anytime he came home, he would find them both in his room or in the living room watching a movie, talking. Other times he would see Stiles leaved early in the morning, often telling him he was meeting Danny. It made Noah reconsider the idea that Danny was dating his son. He was aware of Stiles saying it was not like that, but Noah didn't want to think about any alternatives. No not at all. His son was responsible and Danny seemed like a nice boy. But then teenagers were nothing if not impulsive.

Oh god he had to stop thinking about this. He needed to talk to Stiles.

Thankfully Deaton broke him out his freak out. "Of course I'm not. It takes me more than a few times to get Scott to go home and away from the animals anymore."

Noah smiled, but he didn't feel it. He couldn't stop his thoughts from drifting to Stiles and Scott. It made him wonder.

"Noah, your thoughts are going to become tangible if you do not stop thinking so hard," Deaton said next to him.

He felt himself chuckle. "I am just worried. About Stiles."

"Have you talked to him," the mocha man asked openly.

He shook his head in disappointment. It was his fault for not instigating the conversation. He knew he needed to talk to Stiles, really talk to him. There was much he needed to let his son know. It both relieved and scared him at the same time. On one hand, he was happy about Stiles uncovering his magic. On the other, he was petrified. A part of him was hoping Stiles would never know about the supernatural, but he knew that it inevitable. Stiles was too observant and he was smart. If he didn't see something happening, he would put the puzzle pieces together if he tried hard enough. 

He felt guilty for that. He felt guilty for never telling him the truth. Stiles had spent his whole life relying on his big brain, trying to see the patterns and possibilities to solve problems and see the world, but he never was given a reason to see it another way. A magical way. Noah allowed him to think that way, never think about _what if._ When he was younger, Stiles wondered at the world, his eyes big and bright like any other child's, but after his mother, after he was forced to grow up so fast, no thanks in part to Noah himself, that glint in his eyes faded. Only shining when he was able to see the puzzle for what it was, not what it could be. After he worked to put it all together.

"I need to," he said sadly. "I should have done it long ago."

Deaton neither denied nor agreed with him, which made him feel worse. "So what stops you now?" Noah just level him with a dry look and Deaton's mouth quirked just a little. "Start slow, the rest will follow."

"He will not be happy about it," Noah said quietly.

"Maybe not," Deaton conceded, "but the boy may just feel like he gained something in the end."

"Like what?"

The vet shrugged, running a hand down the golden retriever's back. "Self."

Noah stared at the man for a few moments, contemplating his words. As he finished the rest of his shift that evening, he played out what he hoped to be a good scenario.

 

*** * * * * * ***

Stiles went to his bathroom, washing off the dirt on his face and shrugging out of the shirt he was wearing. As soon as they got home, it was already starting to get dark. They had stopped at a drive through, both starving after trudging through the woods, trying to find their way back to Stiles jeep. Stiles didn't imagine this would take all day, but then he didn't count on being attacked by two elves either.

They piled into his truck, taking comfort in the confined space, the steel and leather around them helping to provide some semblance of protection. They sat in the jeep for a bit, breathing in deep breaths, resting just a little before Stiles turned over the engine and headed back to town. After eating in the parking lot of the drive-thru, the radio quietly playing, Stiles drove them home. They didn't exchange too many words. Both didn't know what to say after the whole ordeal. The word mage constantly circling around his head. He needed to do research  and a lot of it. He supposed he could go to Deaton about it, but that might lead to more questions and he did't really want to answer those just yet. Danny seemed to be in the same boat, although Stiles was not sure what words or images he was picturing.

Getting into the house, his dad on the last leg of his shift and would be home later, they let themselves in and climbed his stairs. Stiles first made his way to the bathroom, hoping to at least take care of the cut on his right cheek. It didn't really hurt anymore, but he could feel the cool air pass over the wound, so he figured he should do something about it.

There was an angry welt on his shoulder, marked by a pink line in the center where the bow had connected. There was a cut on his head, from his cheek bone to over his right ear, but it wasn’t too bad. It was already beginning to bruise, turning his pale skin red and purple, but it wasn’t terrible.

Sighing heavily he went to put his shirt back on, deciding to deal with it later, but  he heard a shuffling behind him.

"Let me see,” Danny said behind him.

"No I’m fine,” Stiles muttered reaching for his shirt to attempt to pull it over his head. He winced at the pain in his shoulder. 

“Let me see Stiles,” Danny said more closely behind him, his voice more authorative but still gentle.

Stiles clutched his shirt between his hands, kneading the material between his fingers. He ground his teeth together. He didn’t want Danny to see him. Aside from the newest bruises he got that day, he still had his scars. The two crossed ones on his shoulder would be the first ones Danny saw. But as soon as Stiles would turn around, the bigger one on side and stomach would be seen and the one over his left pectoral muscle. The ones of his wrists from the cuff and chains that night were more faded than the others, but Stiles always felt them. Even the burn on his side was still red and pink. It would never go away, just like his scars. His scars, his cuts, his bruises and burns, the entire patchwork of his body would be seen.

Stiles barely looked at himself in the mirror anymore. When he did, he avoided his previous injuries. He even avoided his own eyes. He feared he would fall apart if he looked into them. He was supposed to be a kid, sixteen years old and innocent. Long since that has gone.

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and he tensed. He raised his head to turn to see Danny looking at him, his gaze soft and his mouth a worried line.

His heart was thumping in his chest and he had to remind himself to breathe. He tried to not think of Gerard or Grant in that moment, instead focusing on Danny. The gentle warmth of his hand, the steady comfort he seemed to exude. He soaked it in, taking deep breaths as he did. He could smell his own vanilla scent and Danny’s woodsy cologne. Somehow it helped to soothe him, chasing away the threat of his darkest memories before he could fall.

He still didn’t want Danny to see him, his ugly scars that he was forced to bare for the rest of his life. He couldn’t look at into his friend’s eyes as he turned. He didn’t want to see what could be there. Pity, sadness, disgust, anger, he wanted to see none of that. Swallowing hard and forcing himself to turn, he bit his bottom lip to keep from squirming under Danny’s hand.

Danny said nothing as he moved his hand over to Stiles hurt shoulder. Stiles kept his arms down, but Danny raised his other hand, enclosing it over a necklace that Stiles vaguely remembered Danny wearing all the time.

He heard a muttering under his breath and he felt the warmth in the Hawaiian boy’s hand spring up and then radiate into his shoulder. Stiles looked up in surprise in time to see Danny’s eyes close and his forehead crease in concentration. Stiles saw Danny’s hand glow faintly, a dull, shimmering gold under his palm, that seemed to leak into Stiles’ shoulder, turning his skin a shade darker. 

In a moments time, Danny released his hold on him, his muttering falling silent and his eyes opening. There was faint sheen of sweat on his brow, but it was wiped away when he stepped away.

Returning his gaze to his shoulder, it no longer was red. There was no longer a raised welt of a line there, but now smooth skin with hints of a healing bruise, now yellowish pink. The ache was still there, but it was manageable, far less prominent than it had been. He could feel the warmth from Danny's hand slowly fade as the air around them brushed it away. The only thing that remained was the warmth that was from the spell in his body. It sunk into his muscles, helping to release some of the tension in his shoulders. 

"Better," Danny asked.

Stiles nodded, returning his gaze to his friend. He looked as tired as Stiles felt, but he still had looked to have shadows under his eyes now. Strange those weren't there before were they?

"Thanks," he said giving a small smile.

Danny waved off his gratitude, before allowing Stiles to pass, pulling on his shirt as he did. When they got back into his room, Stiles settled onto his bed. Luna was waiting for them, her tail bouncing on the bed. He patted her soft black and white fur, trailing his hand up and down her neck. She licked at his arm, nestling closer to him, making him smile. He leaned into her, trying to clear his mind, attempting to relax just a little. Danny went over to his desk, looking at his window. Stiles didn't pay much attention, watching at his fingers trailed through Luna's fur, leaving little tracks of lines, before he brushed it all back into place.

"What is this?"

Stiles looked over to see Danny standing by his desk, a piece of paper in his hand. It looked like it had a lot of writing on it. It took Stiles a moment to realize that it was the paper that had the spell he made. He felt his body stiffen and his mouth dry up. Danny held the paper in his hand, his brows creased, his other hand on a red leather book, the one that was about wards and protection spells.

Stiles didn't answer his question, which only spurred Danny on more. The boy raised his eyes to him across the room, his eyes seeming darker in the evening setting sun barely shining in the window. "Stiles what is this?"

It took a few tries for Stiles to swallow properly before answering. "It's nothing. Just some notes."

"Notes written like a verse," Danny said rather tensely. "That read an awful lot like understanding languages and texts. Not to mention other words scrawled and then crossed off, most having similar meanings to words not crossed off in the verse."

"They are notes," Stiles said, getting up to take the paper from Danny who eyed him critically. Stiles took the paper and shoved it in one of the books, then took the stack and brought it over to his bed to shove underneath. He had to find a way to hide his belongings, or at least the ones that might make people question some things. What if it hadn't been Danny looking at the books? What if it was his dad? 

What would his dad think of him reading book in various languages? Even if his dad could understand these languages, what if he learned what these books were about? Stiles was not prepared to have that kind of talk with his dad. He probably would never be ready for it. He had kept the supernatural world from his dad for this long and he would continue to do so. Stiles couldn't risk his dad finding out. It would destroy the man, knowing his son was hiding this from him so that he could protect him. His dad would be furious with Stiles. Thinking he had gone mad, thinking Stiles was irresponsible for not coming to him and intentionally putting himself in danger. Yup, that was not a conversation he wanted to ever have. 

Danny watched him put everything his bed, pushing it back far enough that someone would have to go on their hand and knees to reach. Stiles was thinking that Danny was too quiet when Danny spoke. "Those were not notes were they?"

"Sure they were," he answered quickly, perhaps too quickly.

"No-"

Stiles interrupted with some stammering before actually forming a sentence. He could feel his heart beating faster, knowing that he had been caught. Danny wasn't an idiot. Stiles knew that he would have found out sooner or later, but at the same time, he wished Danny was still in the dark. At least for a little while longer. After the previous conversation he had with Deaton, he supposed it was going to rough waters on this topic.

"My notes are always crammed and don't make much sense. But I can read them. With all these books, I had to write down some things to help organize it all. You try learning all of this and see if you don't feel like getting an aneurysm from so much complicated information."

He forced himself to shut up after that. When he was done with his books he sat back on the bed, taking a little comfort from Luna beside him. No one said anything for a lengthy few minutes. Stiles couldn't tell if Danny was quietly seething or if he was trying to process everything. Stiles was more afraid that boy would start yelling at him. Or worse take away the books and give them back to Deaton. Wait, Danny wouldn't do that would he? He wouldn't take away Stiles' hope to learn his magic right?

He chanced a glance at Danny. The boy indeed looked angry. He eyes were dark and his hand clenched. He looked on the verge of punching the wall, but there was something else in those dark eyes. His eyes never left Stiles, which made him freeze. The look made him shiver.

"You created a spell, didn't you," the Lacrosse goalie said. It was more of statement than a question, but Stiles found himself nodding guiltily anyway.

"Stiles you have no idea how dangerous that is," he yelled. "It could have killed you!"

"I am aware of what could have happened," Stiles said calmly. "But it didn't."

"This time," Danny forced out between clenched teeth. "What happens next time you do something stupid like this? What happens when you become too weak, you become paralyzed, or if the spell alone kills you? What then? Stiles was opening his mouth to argue, but Danny stopped him, moving on. "You do not get to do that again. So long as I am around you do not get to mess with magic regardless on if it will help or not."

Stiles said sarcastically, "Good thing you weren't there the first time."

"Goddamn it Stiles," Danny screamed in anger. "This is not a game! I have seen this happen before. I will not stand by and watch someone else I care about get hurt because of what they think they must do!" Realizing too late what just left his lips, he closed his mouth fast before he could say anything more. Stiles however was looking at him with wide eyes, his curiosity peaked.

"What are you talking about," Stiles asked.

"No," Danny said shaking his head, crossing his arms. "No you do not get to change the subject."

"What do you want me say Danny," Stiles said imploringly. "Do you want me to give you a good reason? Do you want me to tell you that I came up with the idea after I had another nightmare?"

Danny eyes went straight from angry to sad. Stiles didn't mean to mention his nightmares. He didn't mean to bring his shit onto Danny. The boy didn't deserve that. This was Stiles' doing, this was his problem, he could expect Danny to help him after everything he has already done. 

The cat was out of the bag anyway, so might as well rolling with it.

"Because that is all I've got," he said softly. "I came up with the idea to first put wards around the town, hoping that it might make this town feel less like a supernatural hell, but I didn't want to wait. I couldn't read the book in Sanskrit on my own. It would have taken weeks, maybe months for me to decipher it all and then makes sense of it. So out of my own impatience I decided to try another way. So no, I do not _have_ a good reason."

Danny lowered his gaze to floor looking like he should be the one that was guilty. Stiles didn't want to accept that. So he walked up to Danny, leaning against his desk next to him, gently bumping his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know I was in the wrong."

Danny shook his head. "No you weren't, not completely. It is only natural, your reaction."

"What do you mean?"

"Your actions stem from your fears." Danny said honestly, keeping his eyes down, maybe afraid to see Stiles' face. "Fear makes people do many things," he said, making Stiles shift uncomfortably, "but you practically run towards them. You work to counter them, even if you are able to do nothing at all. I've noticed that about you."

Stiles scoffed. "Yeah my methods are really something to behold."

Danny chuckled. "They really are. Just, stop putting yourself in danger. Please."

Stiles didn't miss the earnest plea in those words. He didn't know what to feel in that moment. Should he feel happy or sad? He was upset that Danny was angry, hurt that Stiles would be so careless, despite having somewhat good intentions, but he was also happy that Danny seemed to care. Danny cared about him, his well-being. You would think that after these past few months, since the beginning of summer, Stiles would be used to it by now. Maybe it was still the shock of what happened with Scott, not having heard or seen him in months, except from the occasional texts here and there. Stiles didn't want to talk to his once best friend and it wasn't like Scott was making a real effort to see him anyway. Hell _Lydia_ made more effort, in different ways. Surprisingly, even Derek made an effort at the beginning of the summer, but that was more of a "stay away" effort. Pretty much to capitalize his previous statement of wanting Stiles to have nothing to do with his pack.

Of course that didn't stop them from asking for his help with the two missing betas. Stiles was no fool though, he knew he would have looked for them anyway.

But Danny, Danny had been a constant over the months. Aside from originally learning magic from him, he was still there as company. They were hang out at each other's places, watching TV, play games between practicing and Stiles' studying. Stiles hoped that Danny was not hanging around because he felt sorry for him or was afraid he would fall apart if he left. Stiles feared those possibilities even now. But he couldn't deny the hum of magic inside him at the boy's statement. He couldn't ignore the way his heart clenched at the idea of someone other than his dad actually caring about him. 

It made him feel...lighter.

"Okay," he said leaning against the other boy, who leaned back just as much.

The sun was already gone from the sky. Dark blue fading into black as the stars began to pop out across the night sky. It must not have been late, probably a little early, but Stiles didn't care. He didn't know how long they stood there like that, both offering support in the silent house. He still ached from earlier, but that was just a physical problem. Emotionally, he felt drained. He wanted sleep, to crawl into his bed and pass out. He was afraid of seeing the ghostly faces he wished to forget though, but he couldn't ignore the way his eyes were wanting to droop. He figured Danny felt the same. They could deal with everything else in the morning.

"You staying the night," Stiles asked quietly.

Danny nodded, a timid smile on his face. With a simple inclination of his head, Stiles allowed Danny to use the bathroom first. They had the house to themselves so they weren't going to disturb anyone. When Danny left for the bathroom, Luna padded in behind him, hopping up and curling at the foot, her brown eyes on them, already looking half-lidded. Stiles was shrugging off his his shirt carefully, being mindful of his shoulder. It ached, but thanks to Danny's healing it felt better. When Stiles had some rest he would heal it the rest of the way himself. He had practiced a bit more with the healing spells that he learned from Deaton's books. They were better than Danny's spell, but they were a little more complex, not to mention draining. These spells were bigger than Danny's, which meant that they siphoned off his energy more. He didn't want to get a nose bleed again.

When Danny came back in, he was shirtless, wearing only a pair of black boxers. Stiles tried to hide the scoff that escape, but he failed. Danny gave a smirk before he fell on the bed, shaking Luna a bit who crossed her front paws and gave Danny a huff. Stiles just tilted his head, looking at the boy on his bed who was closing his eyes, prepared to sleep.

With fond shake of his head, he headed to the bathroom to relieve himself, brush his teeth and splash cold water on his face. He changed into a loose T-shirt and pajama shorts. Heading back into his room, he shoved Danny aside to push him closer to the wall so he could get under his covers. Settling on his back, he stared at the ceiling, feeling soft breathing of his friend beside him, the warmth coming from his body only a few inches away from him.

"If you wanted to sleep in my bed all you had to do was ask," Stiles commented.

Danny chuckled. "I thought it be better to just climb in and not say anything."

Silence passed for a few heartbeats. Both taking in the settling atmosphere and listening to the quiet sounds of each other breathing and soft snores of Luna at the foot of the bed, her weight curling around their legs. 

"Danny,” Stiles spoke into the dark room. 

“Hm?”

"I’m still not into you." Stiles muttered. 

Danny laughed quietly, shaking the bed before they both started to doze off. Eventually their breathing turned heavier. Stiles didn’t want to sleep, fearful of where his dreams will take him tonight, but with Danny and Luna nearby, he hoped he didn’t have much to worry about. 

He couldn’t fight off his exhaustion, so slowly his eyes fell closed, bringing the sweet blissful state of sleep to his body.

 

*** * * * * * ***

“Stiles!”

He heard his name being called behind him. Turning around, a guy with aviator sunglasses was waving at him a crooked smile on his face.

Stiles stopped walking to stare at the man. He was coming back from getting some lunch in town after his morning session with Chris. He was sore, still a little sweaty, but he felt better than he had the day before. He needed to work out his extra frustration. Mostly that frustration was aimed at himself, but he wouldn't tell Danny that. His training was getting more intense as the weeks ticked by. Chris starting to train him on weaponry and knives just to start out, but mostly still sparring with one another. He was getting better and Chris was pleasantly surprised how much Stiles was countering when he needed to. The more Chris taught him, the more Stiles pushed himself, trying to do better and learned intently. It was safe to say all the sweat he worked off was not just do to cardio and weight training and he was strangely proud about that. He never sweat so hard playing lacrosse and even then that never amounted to anything except that one game. The one game on the night that changed him. In what way he wasn't completely sure yet.

After stopping for a quick bite, he was heading back to his jeep, having walked a block to help clear his head, but also prolong his time to himself. It had been a couple days he had not been alone for longer than an hour at most. Danny was constantly around, trying to get him to talk to Deaton about the spell he created, not to mention practice with him. Although Stiles suspected Danny was more trying to keep an eye on him since the aftermath with the elves.

However, they were working on ways to try and track Erica and Boyd. Thanks to Stiles' spell, he was able to read Deaton's books faster and there were interesting possibilities that they were working on trying. Stiles wanted to try a tracking spell now, but unfortunately they needed a few things. As Danny once told him before, he needed something personal from them. That was not exactly easy to get. He supposed he could try to get something from each of their houses, but it wasn't like he could waltz through the door and rummage through their belongings to try and find something personal to them. Danny was trying to look up other ways, but so far everything was saying they need a piece of them, something for magic to hold onto.

Stiles was just exhausted. Don't get him wrong he loved Danny and he was amazing to have around, but Stiles also wanted some time to think. Time to process everything. His nightmares were not helping anything, but at least he had plenty to distract him, much to Danny's dismay when he came down earlier that morning before Stiles left, making the excuse of going to bring his dad breakfast since he left early that morning. He still was not ready to tell Danny about his training with Chris. Stiles having already been up for a while, woken by a nightmare, and currently downing another cup of coffee with shadows under his eyes. Stiles was already accepting of those new fashion statement to his look. It was either those or waking up screaming from the terrors that haunted him.

The guy that called him was with three other people standing back with the man each with slightly confused looks on their faces. Two other guys, each fairly young, but looked a little older than the one who was waving at Stiles. There was also a woman, with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. They all looked identical. Not in a sibling kind of way, but when in terms of dress. 

They each had on tan colored short sleeve shirts and regular jeans. But the shirts had a logo on it. Dark red crest over their hearts, with what looked like a a helmet in the center.

The man that called his name was walking towards him now leaving the rest of his friends behind, the smile still on his face. Stiles recognized that face the closer it got. Apart from the aviators covering most of his face, Stiles felt like he knew this person. Obviously this guy knew him. 

“Hello?” He said a little cautious of supposed stranger.

The guy chuckled when he was a few steps away. “Forgot about me already? Ouch.”

When Stiles just raised an eyebrow the guy pulled his sunglasses off, revealing the rest of his face and sapphire blue eyes. 

“Ryan.” Stiles said a little too loudly before reigning in his volume. He couldn’t tell if it was his surprise that caused his outburst or his relief.

"That is my name,” he said looking downward. The right side of his shirt had his name in red letters. The other side with the logo. Indeed it was a helmet in the center of the design. A firefighter helmet, with a small ax at the bottom of it. Beacon Hills Fire Department circling the logo. 

“Your are fireman.” He found himself saying. No wonder he had seen him before. He had seen him around town during the occasional fires and maybe once or twice when he happened to notice crime scenes.

”Paramedic actually,” he said with a shrug.

That made even more sense about why he was around town. Up close in the outside light, the guy didn’t seem much older than him. Stiles was almost seventeen, so by sheer estimation alone, he guess this guy was Derek’s age. Maybe a year younger.

"Wow," Stiles said honestly. “Um...I thought I had seen you before.”

Ryan nodded with a small smile. “Yeah, I started at the station a few months ago after getting out of school.”

“How old are you?” After realizing he couldn’t exactly take the question back, he tried to smooth over his rude question with a statement. “You look young to be an EMT.”

Ryan gave him a slightly cocky grin but he answered not unkindly, “I’ll be twenty-one this coming November.”

"Cool," Stiles said feeling a little awkward. He tried not to fidget from his nerves, but maybe he wasn't succeeding from the way Ryan eyed him and his shifting from foot to foot. "Are you just getting off," Stiles asked, glancing briefly at the other fighter's where they talked amongst themselves as they waited for Ryan.

"No, we were just on a lunch break," Ryan said, with a quick look over his shoulder. "I didn't expect to see you around."

Stiles scoffed. "Yeah, of course I would be. I am always around. Here and there, I'll pop up when you don't always know it. Yup, just boom, pop and here I am," he shut up then, feeling his face go red that had nothing to do with the heat of the sun.

Ryan laughed. Stiles couldn't help but smile at the sound. It was unexpected, how it seemed to be so easy for the guy. At the softly melodic laugh, Stiles found himself relaxing a little more. He saw Ryan's eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiled, his white teeth showing under his lips. Stiles would be a fool to say the guy was unattractive. The man was the opposite of that. In the light of the sun, the guy looked a little more tan than he did in the shop. Stretching over muscles that Stiles didn't notice until now. He wasn't as big as Derek, just a little smaller, but he was no sloth in the gym. He had a lean look, with muscles that stemmed from ample time in exercise between shifts. His short, lightly styled hair was still light brown, but with strands of highlights, turning the brown to honey and blonde in some places. The stubble on his face was the same, often reflecting the light as he moved, turning his hair a little lighter. His eyes, well, there was no other way to describe them but as sparkling jewels. They were like the deep blue ocean.

Yeah the guy was good looking. It made Stiles blush harder and also question why the guy was talking to him at all.

"That you do," Ryan said with his smile still plastered on his face.

"Yeah," Stiles said, feeling like he needed to start leaving before he rambled some more. "Well you need to get back to work and I need to actually find a job." That actually wasn't false. He did need to find something to occupy his time. It didn't go unnoticed how other people his age were earning money and he wasn't. Look at Scott at Deaton's clinic and Danny at his grandmother's and being a coach at the Little Tyke's League for the elementary school. 

He was turning to go when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He moved quickly away from it in reaction, turning to see that it Ryan. It wasn't anyone else. It was not Grant or Gerard, or anyone trying to kill him. At least he hoped not. He had to feign surprise than fear, but he wasn't sure if he succeeded. He didn't feel like he did, but Ryan didn't seem to notice, he just lowered his hand, his expression looking a little unsure. 

"Look," he began, starting to twitched and rub the pads of his index finger and thumb together in nervous succession. "I actually wanted...um..." He seemed to stutter for a moment, nothing passing his lips as they moved just a little, looking like they wanted to form words, but he didn't voice them. "Do you want to get some coffee sometime," Ryan asked quickly, before looking down at the concrete.

Stiles was stunned into a tongue tied stillness. He was not expecting that. Of all the ways he thought this conversation to go, he did not see Ryan asking to see him again. What should he say?

He didn't know the guy, but he seemed sweet and nice. Yeah, Stiles knew perfectly well, somewhat better than anyone that first impressions are deceiving and people have more faces than a princess cut diamond. But still, did he want to? Was this like a date? So what if it was, it wasn't like Stiles was oppose to it. I mean look at the guy! Also, let's point out that Stiles was not against the either genders. He told Danny he was bisexual, even his dad knew that. So it wouldn't be a stretch or anything.

He wasn't sure though. He still didn't know the guy. Of course that was how it was supposed to work. Two strangers going out for a drink, lunch or dinner, what have you, learning about one another, finding out if they are compatible to see if time would be good to them. To see if the _two_ could become a _they_. Stiles didn't have experience in that department. He was far from it. Stiles was the eccentric, talkative, flailing boy who got into other people's business. He had no prospects in the dating scene. He wasn't lying when he told Danny he had two crushes in his life, both extremely out of his league, neither ever going to happen for multiple reasons.

Lydia was a crush of the past. Once upon a time he thought she was the best person on the planet. The goddess of Beacon Hills. Beautiful, smart, charisma to match her wits. In a lot of ways she still was. It was just his affections were misplaced. His love for her was more out of a desire to know her. He just wanted to be a person in her life, not a bystander. Maybe he still could be. It would take time to build up a real friendship, but after their last conversation, where he laid it all on the line for her, he wasn't sure if that friendship would build. _Then why did she call me that night,_ he thought to himself.

Derek, however, well that was more impossible than Lydia. His crush on Derek was rather short lived, but he couldn't deny that it was there. He admired the man. His strength, not his werewolf strength, but his character. The man had lost so much where he has a right to never want to get up every morning and face the world yet he did anyway. He tried to take Scott under his wing to teach him, help him however he could. He helped three teenagers overcome their troubles, leave their past behind them so they could make a future. Of course Stiles did not agree with his methods on things and the turning of teenagers was reckless he had to admit, but he still saw some parts of the good. He didn't know if Derek saw them, but he did.

Yeah of course, the guy was easy on the eyes. Stiles even admired a little of that from afar when they were not arguing or running for their lives. He wasn't sure when his crush ended or if it ended at all.

He just felt a detachment to the Alpha werewolf. Maybe it was after that night, when Derek said he was not pack, that he would never trust him. After hearing how Derek saw him, as a manipulative child, he felt...empty. He felt hollow at the mention of Derek's name. He felt a weight around his gut that seemed to want to pull him into the ground.

Before he used to feel different. Maybe a skip in his heart, butterflies in his stomach. Definitely annoyance and slightly intimidated. But once he felt-dare he say it-safe with the man. Now, he wasn't sure how to feel.

So why should he care about his past? He was a _mage_ after all. He was still figuring out what that meant and he still needed to talk to Deaton about it, but that had to mean something right. He had magic and was learning from a retired Druid and hunter. He had faced scarier things alone with far less, so what was a potential date. Maybe it wasn't a date. It could be just a get together with a potential new friend.

It wasn't like Stiles had an endless supply of those.

Ryan was still waiting for an answer, looking more discouraged by the minute. He was down casting his eyes every couple of seconds, most likely not wanting to pressure Stiles by scrutinizing him, expecting an answer. He was still rubbing his fingers together, his shoulders seeming to hunch just a little as Stiles thought over his answer. What the hell was Stiles waiting for anyway?

"Sure," he said finally.

Ryan looked up at him in shock, before a broad smile stretched across his face. The tips of his ears turned pink, but it did little to hide the beaming smile. Stiles couldn't help but give a little smile in return.

"Okay," Ryan said nodding his head. "Okay, alright. Yeah. Um...I don't know what your schedule is like. Uh...how about later this week on Friday. I have the late shift so I can meet you around lunch time."

Stiles nodded his head, the smile growing a little at watching the man stumble over his words. At least Stiles wasn't the only to do that. "That's fine. I have no plans. Free."

"Great," he said. "Where would you like to go? Any place special, simple, little of both?"

He shook his head, moving his shirt just a little to get some air down there against his suddenly hot torso. "I'm fine with the cafe on Crescent Street."

Ryan nodded, his smile still in place. His eyes seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. "Okay sounds good. Yeah."

Thankfully Ryan was called by one of his friends from the station, saving both of them from an further potential embarrassment. They would have plenty of that later. Ryan looked behind him quickly giving a quick wave before turning back to Stiles. His smile faltered just a bit, but his face was still flush. Stiles felt much the same way. He didn't know how to do any of this. He was a newbie to it all. It was a small comfort that it seemed Ryan was just as nervous as he was, but Stiles doubted the guy had as little experience as he did.

"So I guess I will see you Friday," Ryan asked, looking a little unsure.

Stiles nodded shyly. "I'll be there around one?"

Ryan smiled, brilliant white teeth shining through. "Okay," he said.

"Okay."

Ryan left him then, stepping back a few steps before turning away. Stiles watched a few second more, watching the lean guy get back to his friends before heading back to his jeep. When he finally got inside, he was trying not to have a freak out.

Did he mention he had not done this before?

He didn't know what do, how to handle this. What should he wear? Should he tell Danny? No wait bad idea, Danny would probably find a reason to tag along and if he didn't have one, he would certainly tail Stiles there. Danny would no doubt make fun of him for a while, before ultimately trying to help him. Either possibility was not appealing. Stiles didn't know how to feel about all of this. Ryan seemed like a nice guy. Stiles did not expect the request, but it wasn't like he was opposed to the idea. The man was fine, so it wasn't like it was a terrible decision. Of course it made Stiles wonder what the guy saw in him. He was lithe and awkward. It made no sense.

 _Wait, what am I thinking_ , he thought. _I'm awesome!_

Oh this was going to nag at him for the next few days. He was sure he was going to have a mild panic attack about an hour before he to meet Ryan but he would deal with that later. Right now he kind of wanted to bask in the knowledge that he had a date. A date! With a guy. At one point in time he imagined his first date being with Lydia. Such a magical date it would be, but yeah, that was sadly not going to happen. But Stiles was not disheartened.

He had a date dammit and he was going to worry about it later. He had a date with a good looking guy and he felt a little giddy about it.

 

*** * * * * * ***

_He saw the hooded figure standing by the large stump, his pale hand coasting over it, almost reverent. What made him catch his breath was the hand looked human. Pale skin over bone and muscles, as human as his own. Long figures, slender fingers, dancing over the tree in fluid movements. What the was going on here? The air around the figure was shimmering in a way. Like a mirage on the air or a lot of rising heat. As Stiles stared, the distortion got worse, twisting around the figure and the tree. Like image on the surface of water, Stiles saw the figure put both hands on the tree, throwing it's head back towards the sky._

_Stepping away from the scene, Stiles wanted to get as far away as possible. Only his right foot stepped on a twig, a loud crack ringing through the quiet woods. The figure turned it's head in his directions, the shadows of the hood covering the face, except for the glowing pale blue eyes._

_He didn't have time to move before he had someone slamming into him, pulling him off his feet and then shoving him against a tree where his legs gave out and he fell to the ground. The weight that was on his body disappeared, leaving him trying to take big lungfuls of breath, before he opened his eyes. Thankfully he didn't hit his head. He was startled to see Boyd standing in front of him, Erica close behind._

_Both had equally menacing looks on their young faces. Erica was regarding him like a fly not worth her time, while Boyd looked to be holding back growls. Before either they or Stiles could say anything, he was face with the hooded figure who stepped around the tree into Stiles' line of sight. The piercing blue eyes were like knives into Stiles body, like two icy daggers knocking the wind out him. The hooded figure seemed to glare at him and somehow Stiles got the sense that it was smiling at him._

_Stiles barely remembered coming into the forest, but then he never did when it came to his dreams. He scarcely remembered falling asleep in his room, if that is where he actually was. He vaguely remembered passing a few trees, feeling like he was heading to some place, but didn't know where. He still felt the tugging sensation in his chest. His magic was pulsing inside him, like it was trying to tell him something, but he didn't know what. As like the last time, he found himself wandering around, seeming aimlessly in any direction, only to find himself returning to that damn stump with the figure that seemed to have it out for him._

_Lucky him to be right back where he never wished he wanted to be. Only this time, he didn't expect to be so close to the figure. This close he could feel something from the figure. He couldn't explain it. It was like a tingling under his skin. His magic seemed to react to it, seeming unsettled and as antsy as he was. It was like a sense he got around certain people a couple times before. Like with Peter, even with Derek._

_It was like a screaming exclamation mark in his head. Screaming that they were not what they seemed. There was something more._

_"Well as always you can't keep your nose away," Boyd said coldly, bring his attention back to them._

_Stiles tried not to see the pale blue eyes in front of him. He could feel a tremor running through his body, but he did what he could to keep it down. He couldn't let them see it. "Well you know me," he said feigning toughness. "I am naturally inquisitive."_

_"A fatal flaw," Erica said with an evil smirk. She moved forward, her claws extending. Stiles didn't have time to flinch away when the hooded figure moved, holding up a hand, warding her off._

_Stiles didn't miss the disappointed look on her face, her eyes gleaming just once before she backed up. Stiles didn't like that she seemed to consent to this figure so easily. He wasn't Derek, he wasn't their Alpha. It didn't make sense and it definitely didn't set well with Stiles._

_"What do you want with me," Stiles asked the figure._

_He didn't expect an answer, so it surprised him when he got one. The harshly cold voice ringing in his ears. "Out of my way."_

_He should have expected the grab to the throat but his eyes didn't catch the movement before it was too late. Stiles felt his hand, cold to the touch, close around his neck, constricting it so tight that Stiles barely got a breath before it happened. He felt his body being risen from the ground, the figure rising with him. He tried to kick out, but his body was unresponsive. The lack of air keeping him from moving. He tried to pry the hand away from him, nails digging into the skin. It did nothing but make the hand squeeze tighter. He felt his throat grow hot, a mixture of searing cold and burning fire. It made him want to cry out in pain but the vice around his neck prevented him from taking in a breath let alone speaking. In the next moment he was thrown to the side, his body rushing into the air before he hit the ground hard._

_Coughing and rolling to the side, he heaved air into his throat. It burned as it passed his lips, his chest rising and falling too quickly. The little bits of air he could gather were too small to help his aching lungs. Instinctively he reached for his neck, tenderly brushing his fingers against the no doubt bruised skin. It stung as he made contact, the burning of pulling air into his throat and in his lungs was like he swallowed a hot branding iron. He turned his head to the side where the figure was still standing, Erica and Boyd beside it, both with smirks on their faces._

_He didn't bother saying anything because he didn't get the chance to before he heard movement coming from his other side. Gingerly turning his head he saw Gerard and Grant stepping around the large stump, identical looks of evil joy on their faces. The other hunters were behind them, each looking like giddy kids on Christmas, like they were about to be treated with some presents. Another movement to ahead of him made him look towards the thicker tree line. Kyram and Flynn both stepped from behind the trees, hands balancing their weapons nimbly, smug looks on their faces, their deep green eyes matching the forest behind them._

_Stiles was practically surrounded. He felt fear plant itself firmly in his chest, his pulse pounding like a jack hammer in his body, his gut fluttering like millions of tiny wings. This wasn't nervousness, this was downright terror. Here he was surrounded by the people he made enemies with. The hunters, the elves, all looking at him with predatory eyes. He wanted to cry out for Erica and Boyd to help him, but as they stood there with equal parts satisfaction and deadly glee on their faces, he didn't think it would matter. He knew they hated him for leaving them. He knew they wanted him to suffer like they did._

_No they wouldn't be able to help him._

_As the others closed in on him, he tried one last attempt in hopes of making a run for it. Gathering the magic he could feel under his skin, the thrumming fire inside his chest, he willed it out, shoving it past his body around him. He hoped it would throw all them away from him, maybe even stun them for a time. He couldn't think of a spell to do that with his mind racing, his throat searing both inside and out, and his fear rising. So he tried for whatever, only nothing happened._

_No magic, no release of the pressure inside him, no pulse of energy sending his enemies away from him. He tried again, all of them getting closer, smirks on their faces. Reaching deeper inside him, he felt the warmth spread over his body, down his arms and legs. This time trying to use his hands as the exit point, he willed his magic to respond. Nothing happened, this time it was like he pushed out a tidal wave only for it to roll back into him, making it feel like he just got punched._

_What happened to his magic?_

_There was laughter around him, coming from almost everyone. Mostly he heard the chilling, ghostly laugh of the hooded one. His glowing eyes burning into his body like his hand was. "Try your magic all you want," it said. "I assure you it won't work."_

_"Wha-What did you do to me," Stiles spat breathlessly._

_Erica answered for the thing. "Just blocked your magic. Just to make things more interesting."_

_He could try to deny her words. He could try to force his magic out, try anything. Conjure fire, move the earth, levitate something. Yet he could feel his magic under his skin, wanting to respond to him, but unable to do anything more than pressed up against his skin, nothing more than a silent supporter. This couldn't be happening to him. This wasn't real. It couldn't be._

_"This is just a dream, this is just a dream, this is just a dream," Stiles said making those words into a mantra. It did nothing for what he saw. Grant and the hunters in front, all with dark smiles on their faces. Gerard stepping to the side to stand by the betas. The elves joining the hunters._

_"No, it is not little boy," Grant said with a grin. The man through him a knife that Stiles barely caught without cutting himself. Stiles stared at the cold blade in his hand then looked at Grant with wide eyes._

_"What are you doing?"_

_Grant shrugged. "I am having my fun."_

_Stiles clutched the knife in his hand, feeling it grow clammy with sweat. He looked at Grant with no doubt a lot fear in his eyes as the man's smile widened. He saw the other hunters, Kyram and Flynn moved around them, creating a wide circle. They locked him and Grant inside. With an expert twist, Grant held his knife backwards, blade towards his body. His grip loose, but controlled._

_They were going to make him fight. Stiles realized this a bit too late as Grant moved. Stiles didn't have time to shrink back or put up any defense as he felt the knife slide down across his thigh, tearing through his jeans and into his skin. Blood welled up a little, but it wasn't a bit wound. It was was mostly shallow. Stiles looked back up to meet Grant's cold eyes._

_"You might want to do something beside stand there," he purred. "I like it when my toys fight back."_

_The sounds of laughter around him made his heart sink. He looked from Grant to the knife in his hand then back up again. There was no choice. He couldn't tell if this was a dream anymore. The pain in his leg made it feel real. The sheer fear he had radiating through him felt real. The constant hum of his magic under his skin made it feel real. The only problem was that he couldn't use it now. He was powerless. His magic would not help him now. Like last time, he was just a kid with nothing special to help, facing a bunch of hunter's with skills they learned from years of experience and practice. Not to mention elves who were however old, with possibly hundreds of years of deadly skills._

_This had to be a nightmare. It had to be._

_Then why won't I wake up, he thought._

 

*** * * * * * ***

Danny woke up to the sounds of whimpering and deep breathing. He was on his side, feeling the warmth of another body on his back. He could feel the movement of said body against him, barely brushes of contact, but enough to notice. He knew it was still late, or maybe early. After spending the evening with Stiles, just watching Netflix and playing games, they decided to finally call it a night. They didn't practice magic today, wanting instead to just hang out. After the what happened in the forest with the elves, they just wanted a day to be teenagers. Danny suggested that, still feeling mildly sad about Stiles' admitting what he did out of his nightmares, but it seemed Stiles was all for it. 

Rolling over, he turned to look at Stiles, preparing himself to start shaking him awake from another nightmare. Only what he saw, he wasn't exactly prepared for.

He first noticed the room. It was dark, but he could make out different items floating a few feet off their original surfaces. In the sliver of pale light from the moon from the window, he saw outlines of each of Stiles' possessions in the air, hovering steadily. Luna was by their feet, whining softly, her eyes going back and forth between the floating objects and Stiles who seemed frozen frozen from his neck down. Danny remembered Stiles moving the last time something like this happened. And even so Stiles was never this still. The boy's face were the only muscles moving, twisting into grimaces and gasps and pants leaving his lips. Danny reached over to turn on the lamp light on the nightstand, illuminating the room in a yellow glow.

He didn't need to see what all was floating around the room, his main concern was Stiles. Luna was inching closer to them, her paws on Stiles body, her whining becoming louder.

"Shh," he said to help calm her. "It's just a nightmare." If his own voice faltered a bit, he decided not to dwell on it. When he turned his eyes back to the boy beside him, he froze.

Stiles face was pale, lightly coated in sweat. Nothing unusual about his normal look when has a nightmare, but this time, there was purple and red bruises on his neck. Inching closer, Danny felt his blood run cold as he noticed the distinctive shape of fingers circling around the smooth skin. Danny could have sworn those were not there before they went to bed. It was not possible for him to not noticed before. The bruises were a stark contrast to his normal skin color, standing out ugly and noticeable no matter which direction you would be facing.

He couldn't think about how Stiles had gotten it and so quickly. It didn't make sense. As a Rubik's cube floated by his head, he started to remember the last time this all happened. The last time he witness Stiles having a nightmare like this, one where he woke up trying to pull deep lungfuls of breath into his body and a bruised welt on his shoulder blade.

Danny felt the dread settle in his chest before he shoved the covers off of them, kneeling partially on the bed as he leaned over Stiles.

“Stiles wake up." He tried first, lightly shaking his shoulder, trying to coax him gently into opening his eyes. He would probably curse himself later if it was nothing and Stiles laughed at him for making such a fuss. However, the large bruise around his friend's throat was not something he was mistaking. It stared at him like it was a red flag.

When Stiles didn't wake up, his face distorted into a deep frown, followed by a grimace, his head turning to the side back and forth twice, he tried again. "Come on wake up. It’s just a nightmare."

Still nothing. He was starting to panic. Danny shook him harder, making his head roll a little with the movement. "Stiles, wake up. Wake up now."

He tried to pat against his cheek, softly at first, then building up to an annoying love tap. All the while saying his name, trying to get him to open his eyes. All to no avail and Danny was really starting to worry. Luna was no better, her head now on Stiles' stomach, soft growls and whine escaping her throat.

"Wake up! Stiles, come on, wake up!

Luna barked with him, both of them trying to wake up their friend.

"Stiles," Danny yelled, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. The fluttering feeling of fear running through his body with each passing moment.

If Danny was too focused on Stiles to notice Noah Stilinski standing in the room;s threshold a look of fear and worry on his face, then who could blame him.


	12. A Cutting Week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I am a little late. Last week had been HELL! But here it is. Don't worry you will see what happened to Stiles eventually. LOL Also thank you to all the comments and love and welcome to all newcomers to the story I hope you all enjoy! I welcome comments and tips! See you all for the next chapter installment! :D

“What the hell is going on,” the Sheriff asked as he stormed into the room. 

Danny looked at him with wide eyes, panic stricken eyes. Deep brown turned into almost black with worry. Noah came into the room, finding Danny over his son’s sleeping form, trying to get him to wake up. When he came into the house, he could hear him from dounstairs, calling out to Stiles. Luna barking and whining as the boy shook at his son in an effort for movement 

When he came close, he didn’t miss how Danny leaned over Stiles just a little more, almost seeming to protect him. He couldn’t see Stiles face with Danny in his like of sight, but he could tell something was obviously wrong. 

He noticed Danny looking nervously at the floating objects in the room. A watch that Stiles never really wore hovering on its own near his shoulder. Noah didn’t care, he just stared at the two boys. He eyes transfixed on Stiles’ still form.

”Danny what is going on,” he asked taking s step closer, angling his head so he could try and see Stiles’ face. 

“He...he won’t...he won’t wake up,” Danny stumbled getting over his shock of Noah being there. He kept eyeing the weightless belongings, his eyes going a little comically wide as if he thought he was the only one to see them. “He’s having a nightmare. I can’t wake him up.”

Noah sat down on the bed next to Danny, pulling Stiles’ right arm to him. Giving it a few tugs. Noah tried calling out his son’s name and was met with silence. Danny didn’t move from his spot, his eyes dark, echoing his own growing suspicion and concern.

When he saw the bruises on Stiles’ neck, his blood went cold. He angled Stiles’ head so he could see them better. He noted the purple and red marking, eerily similar to hand prints. He looked at Danny, the kid looking back with fear on his face. Noah could feel the anger rising in his chest as he looked from Danny to his son’s neck. 

“Did you do this,” Noah asked quietly, etched with dangerous undertone. He prayed Danny didn’t. He liked the kid, but he would never let him get away with hurting his son.

Danny shook his head quickly, his nearly black eyes wide and glistening with tears. “I found him like this. I woke up and he was whimpering and breathing heavily.”

When Noah looked skeptical, Danny pressed on. His voice a little shaky, but stern in his tone. “I wouldn’t hurt him. I found him like this. I thought he might have done himself, but he would have woken up if he had. I don’t understand how.”

Noah wasn’t sure if he believe Danny. The boy was convincing he would give him that. He really did like Danny. Stiles and him seemed to be as thick as thieves lately. Given Scott seemed to be more or less MIA, he couldn’t help but revisit his earlier assumptions that Danny and his son were dating.

The kid was wearing a T-shirt and boxers, in bed with Stiles, for who knows how many hours, while Noah himself had just gotten home 15 minutes ago. To a hormonal teenagers that was a good life.

He wasn’t opposed to it. Far from it, but after Stiles denied strenuously any kind of romantic involvement with Danny he decided to believe him. Yet he wasn’t sure. There were signs. Those signs could be misinterpreted, but then thy couldn’t. To Noah the only times this signs were misinterpreted was when it was Scott involved. Maybe Danny really was just friends with Stiles? Noah wasn’t sure, but would be getting to the bottom of it.

“So, you work up and found him like this, bruised and still asleep,” Noah asked, hearing how it sounded crazy even to him.

Danny nodded. “I don’t know how it happened. But I didn’t do that.”

The vehemence in his voice made Noah relax just a little. Danny might not hurt Stiles, but he was still concerned about his son with dee bruises on his neck and not awake to notice it.  

Stiles having nightmares were nothing knew. Even as a kid he had them and they were usually due to come around when he was really stressed out. The worst of his terrors was when his mother was in the hospital getting worse and then afternoon she died. Noah would wake almost every night to his son screaming and crying. He was happy to know that Stiles hadn’t been having nightmares for a while, even after all of these supernatural shenanigans, at least that is what he believed up until now.

There is already a lot Stiles was trying to keep from him. Was he keeping his nightmares a secret too? It wasn’t like Noah was often home at night to tell, so it was possible. That made his stomach twist and his desire to wake Stiles up stronger. He didn’t care about the floating things around the room, he cared about why his son was not opening his eyes.

Stiles was barely making a sound beneath them, whimpering and breathing out gasps here and there, but otherwise he was quiet. His head was turning to the sides, he was avoiding something. Noah tried to shake him, a little harder rattling his head a little into his pillow, still nothing. This wasn’t right, Noah thought. This is not like his usual nightmares. And the bruises on his neck were too jarring to not worry.

There have been time Stiles did not wake up easily, but never like this. It made Noah’s hair rise on his arms and his chest  clench.

"Was he doing magic before he fell asleep,” Noah asked, shocking Danny out of his own thoughts.

The boy looked like he didn’t know what to say. His eyes remained like saucers and his mouth opening and closing like a fish. No doubt he was stumbling over the right words to use here. Noah knew that Danny knew about the supernatural. He hadn’t been sure, but seeing him more and more around Stiles and occasionally seen with some of the others, Noah thought it best to assume. Also since the Lacrosse goalie didn’t seem particularly surprised about the empty Red Bull can hanging above his head told Noah that he might know a thing or two.

"I...uh...no he wasn’t. We just went to sleep.” Danny said his dark eyes confused and aflutter. Then going a little accusatory as he spoke what he wanted to from the beginning. “Wait, you know?”

Noah nodded. “I do and I have for quite a long while.”

“But Stiles...he...” Danny no doubt was probably going to say that Stiles didn’t know that Noah knew. That he had been trying to hide it from him. Noah has heard enough of that for a while. Seeing his son this still and not opening his eyes, it was not helping him in his guilt with what he has been keeping from him too.

"Stiles doesn’t know, I realize that,” Noah said, trying to reign in his annoyance. It was more due to himself than Danny. He understood the kid’s surprise, given how he inadvertently has been hiding Stiles’ secrets from Noah as well. “That I will fix, but he needs to wake up first.”

"Last time this happened, it took me almost ten minutes to wake him,” Danny offered.

"So this has happened before,” Noah said, feeling his stomach flutter and then drop like a weight. Stiles has gone through this before and he didn’t know.

When Danny didn’t answer, just tried to shake Stiles, Noah got his answer. That caused him to become more antsy. This was not a normal nightmare, anyone could see that. Stiles would have woken up from them doing what they could to shake him back to consciousness. Maybe this was a magic problem? Maybe something had gone wrong?

"Call Deaton,” he said to Danny quickly reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone tapping it once to unlock it and handing it him. 

“What?”

"Call him, tell him what is happening,” he said. When the boy made no sudden movements he looked at him, seeing the confusion and surprised on his face. “Now Danny.”

The kid didn’t hesitate then, dialing the number quickly. Noah didn’t miss how the boy seemed to pull the number from his mind, but he said nothing. His attention went back to Stiles, lingering on the grimacing face and the deep bruises on his neck. He never felt so useless in his life than he did right then. He could feel his own panic grip behind his ribs, holding him to they spot as Danny conversed with Deaton in the hall. 

Noah didn’t hear the words being said, but he didn’t care. He just kept looking at Stiles. Holding his too still body into his lap. Deaton will fix this he thought to himself. He will fix it. 

 

*** * * * * * ***

To Danny’s surprise Deaton arrived quickly, not 15 minutes after he got off the phone with him. He told him everything, running through it without much of a breath, the whole time the vet stayed quiet taking it all in. When he was done, the vet said he would be there soon and then hung up. 

Danny was surprised but grateful for how serious Deaton was taking this, but then he never really saw the man taking anything but serious. So when he arrived with a couple knocks on the door, Danny ran downstairs, leaving Noah in the room with Stiles. Opening the door, he found the vet standing there a deep frown on his face. He had a black case in his hand, which was gripping the handle tightly.

Danny stepped to the side to allow Deaton in. Before he even finished stepping through the threshold he was speaking. "Where is he?"

"In his room."

Deaton was moving before Danny finished, heading up the stairs. Upon entering the room, Noah looked at Deaton with so much worry that Danny's heart constricted. Deaton took one look at the room, eyeing the levitating objects curiously, before he went to the beside, brushing past the suspended objects lithely and kneeling down. This was the second time Danny had seen Deaton in this position, kneeling beside Stiles while he was asleep on his bed, tending to him like a doctor who made a house call. This time though Deaton was not pulling out bandages to wrap broken ribs, nor treat burns and stitch up cuts. This time, it was more of a clinical approach to the vital signs. Checking his pulse, examining the dark bruise around his throat, looking over his torso for any more apparent injuries, monitoring his breathing. He had a stethoscope around his neck, listening to every movement and sound Stiles made. It wasn't until Deaton took a small flashlight out of his case and opened one of Stiles' eyes that they all noticed they were glowing. Beautiful copal, shimmering, and brilliant.

But they were unseeing. His pupils dilated and unmoving.

When Danny sat on the edge of the bed, Luna beside him, silently whining and cuddling into his side, still perched half on Stiles' legs, he got a good look at Deaton's face. The man was frowning so hard, he thought his face would crack. He couldn't be sure, but it looked strangely like worry, deep worry on the ex-Emissary's features.

"Well," Noah Stilinski asked, beside Stiles, worry clear in his voice, mirroring the lines on his forehead and mouth. "What is going on Alan?"

Wow Danny was going to have to get used to Noah knowing about the supernatural. He was more than interested in seeing how Stiles would react to this. It was weird hearing the man say Deaton's name. Sure Danny knew Deaton had a first name, but Danny couldn't remember the last time he had heard it. It was like second nature to refer to the vet by his surname and nothing more. But seeing as how both men knew each other, and that was in a long history sense, it was making Danny's head spin.

The chocolate colored man seemed to sigh heavily, sitting back a little on his knees, his hand still on Stiles' pulse point. "It is safe to say this is not a form of sleep."

"Then what is it." Noah asked with another frown line appearing if that was even possible.

Deaton sat back fully, taking his hand away, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to think of what to say. "Well, his pulse is not calm, rather it is fast like he is experiencing something stressful, the bruises, his magic reacting to his emotions, deep unconsciousness that outside forces have no effect on..." The man stopped, ticking off every problem like it was part of his list. Danny could practically see the wheels in the man's brain turning as he thought. "This is all part of the problem."

"Oh for God's sake man, beat around the bush a little more please,” Danny said in clear annoyance. 

Deaton went on, pretending to not hear Danny. “He is too deep in his subconscious. There is no easy way to bring him out of it.”

"So...a trance," Danny asked.

Deaton shook his head slowly. "A trance is breakable and his magic would not react the way that it is," he said looking around at the still hovering possessions.

"So what is this," the Sheriff asked looking around before gesturing to his very still son.

"I believe his magic is manifesting itself on it's own."

"It's hurting him," Noah said, the volume of his voicing rising in worry.

"No," Danny said strongly. "His magic would never hurt him. It needs him. A Spark will not survive without it's body. Not to mention those bruises look like hand prints."

Deaton nodded, rubbing a hand down his face. His dark eyes were darting from Stiles, to a floating mini-stabler overhead, then back at Stiles again. "This could be astral projection."

"What," both Danny and Noah said together. Noah out of confusion, Danny more from shock.

"It's an out of body experience." The man started to explain, quickly sounding like a teacher. "It is where the soul and often the subconscious leaves the body.”

That might have been the wrong thing to say as Noah's eyes went wide and he gripped Stiles more firmly to him. His voice dangerously close to a whimper. "Are you saying that my son is no longer here with us?”

"Yes and no." Deaton said calmly. "The subconscious part of him travels, his soul self as it is sometimes called. Crosses between our plane and the astral plane.”

Noah's emotions were all over the place tonight. Danny couldn't blame him, but the constant shift between worry, confusion, fear, was starting to make Danny dizzy. If the man wasn't careful he may end up having a heart attack by the end of the night and Danny did not want Stiles to wake up to that. The boy had enough guilt problems as it were. "I think you are losing him Deaton," he said with a small smile, trying to help the Sheriff relax just a little, even though he himself was internally freaking out.

There are multiple planes through out the worlds each has its own set of laws and rules. Like gravity for instance. Some of those planes mirror our own. The world seen through different lenses in a way. The astral plane is is another dimension within our own. A mirror image made of up magical energy and matter.

"And Stiles is there?” Danny found himself asking tentatively.

"It would appear that way."

“Then how do you explain this,” Noah asked pointing a finger at his son’s neck. 

Deaton frowned gravely at that. Danny didn’t like that look and he could tell Noah didn’t either. “I am not sure. The Astral plane works a lot like our own. The difference is you are split between your subconscious and conscious, but you still share a body.”

"So,” Danny said trying to put the pieces together. “If you get hurt there, it transfers here?”

Deaton nodded, checking Stiles’ neck with light touches, pushing down a little to check for hidden damage. “It would appear that way. It has never been proven and very few magic users has ever gone to the Astra plane let alone, gone there for a long period of time.”

"So you are saying something or someone on this plane is hurting my son,” Noah asked angry.

No one spoke their thoughts on that. They all knew the answer. The evidence was clear.

”We need to wake him up,” Noah stressed.

“How,” Danny asked. “What can we do that we have not tried?”

Deaton leaned away from Stiles, returning his stethoscope to his case. “I have already started trying to find a way. This is uncharted waters for me. After you mentioned his eyes and magic presenting itself while he slept, I made some calls.”

“And?” Danny asked expectantly.

"Astral projection, as you know, if difficult to do. And yet Stiles seems to have stumbled upon it. His magic is more powerful than we first believed. The reason we can deduce that he is in the Astral plane is because he is still here. Most of the other planes you have to be there physically and they are even more difficult to get to. To reach the Astral plane, one must be able to reach a type of peace within their mind."

"He believed these were nightmares," Danny said. "How is that peace of mind?"

"It can come before his subconscious takes shape," Deaton said with a shrug. "Knowledge about this plane is limited. Given that Stiles is the catalyst to all of this, I think it safe to say he is not like any other witch."

Danny went still for a moment. His thoughts drifted to the Elves. Making him think about what happened in the woods the other day. He had been thinking about it lately, playing it over in his head. Each time returning to Flynn and Kyram looking at Stiles like a prize, calling him a trophy. Calling him a mage. He knew Deaton and Noah didn't know about this kind of information. He needed to tell them. Despite Stiles wanting to work his way up to it, the cat was very nearly out of the bag anyway. Plus Noah already knew about the supernatural and Stiles' magic so what's another bomb shell. "About that?"

At both men staring at him, Danny tried hide the urge to flinch and squirm under their gazes. "Danny," Noah asked, "what do you know?"

Take a deep breath, Danny took one more look at Stiles, taking strength from seeing him nearly comatose and plowing through the story. With each word, Noah became surprised, worried, and slightly angry. Danny hoped his anger wasn’t directed at him. Deaton ate up the words like he was listening to someone speak for the first time. Danny told them everything. His and Stiles' clash with the wraiths-which Deaton already knew and was more for Noah's benefit-then moving on to first nightmare, ticking off the major points, also for Noah's benefit, and proceeding to tell them about some of their practicing exercises, how Stiles' eyes would glow here and there. He spoke about Stiles' idea on his wards, completing the spell only to have two elves break through wishing to find the mage responsible and kill him as a trophy, finding out he was the mage and everything else that happened afterwards.

No one missed the small gasp from Noah at the trophy part, but Danny pressed on, telling them every detail he could remember. He told them how Stiles had no choice, how he saved them both. Deaton and Noah seemed to understand, both nodding in clear reassurance.

When Danny finished telling them about his finding of what Stiles had done, creating the spell to understand any language written, he stopped, avoided looking at Deaton's face. He knew the man would have already warned Stiles about that action, strenuously no doubt. It was a very strict rule in magic, one that many learned too late. What he didn't expect after a few tense moments of quiet, he looked up to see the man's eyes seemed to glint as he thought over all the new information.

"Hmm," he said to himself more than likely.

"What," Danny asked after a moment more, his anxiety starting to creep up, "that's it. Nothing else from you?"

Deaton leaned against the edge of the desk on the opposite side of the room, one arm crossed over his torso, his chin resting on his other hand, balancing his arm on top of the other. "Well there is much that I can say, let alone do."

"So wait, he is stuck like this," Noah asked almost pleading. "No, no there has to be a way to wake him up."

"That was not what I meant," Deaton said calmly, his eyes on Stiles' face. "I meant that what's done is done. While I am not happy that Stiles had ignored my warning, I suppose I should have seen it coming. One thing I know is to not give Stiles ammunition to do something he knows he shouldn't." He stared at the boy between them all for a moment more, each one of them casting looks of worry at him before the vet sighed heavily, chin still resting on the knuckles of his hand. "It seems he is more powerful than I first suspected."

"So it really is true," Danny said, hearing the shock in his own voice. "He really is a mage."

Deaton seemed to consider it all for a moment. Danny kept his eyes on him, waiting eagerly while Noah did the same. His eyes wide with expectation and anticipation. Slowly the bald man nodded. "I always knew Stiles had potential, extreme potential, but I wasn't sure. His level of control in our sessions and his ability to pick up magic quicker than anyone I have seen before was astounding, but I thought it was due to his practicing with you along with that big brain of his."

Danny didn't know what to do with all this information. It was true that Stiles was smart. Even Danny could see how much he had progressed with his magic. With the limited spells Danny had shown him, it only took a few tries to get it right. After he unlocked how his magic worked and what it felt like, getting control of his emotions, it all seemed to become natural to him. He was a little jealous about that, how easy it seemed to be for Stiles. With Danny it was never easy when it came to magic, something that he had to deal with everyday. Of course no one knew why, not even Stiles. Danny felt even more guilty for not telling Stiles, something he intended to change after Stiles woke up.

They didn't have a chance to press further on questions or speculations because Stiles started to groan and whimper underneath Noah's arms. Everyone in the room moved a little closer to Stiles' hoping to see him open his eyes only to have nothing happen. What they did see was more terrifying.

A long cut appeared on Stiles' arm running from the outside of his shoulder around to the inside crease of his elbow. It was like an invisible knife had just cut into him like butter. To everyone's horror, they all watched as the cut opened up, blood welling up on his arm, starting to seep across his skin. Stiles' didn't move, didn't awaken from the pain that no doubt Danny knew was there. The only indication of any discomfort or motion from all the frozen bodies around was the look of pain on the boy's face and the slight groan of pain that escaped his lips. 

"What the hell," Noah whispered in terror.

Before either of them could move, the wound was closing. The blood slowing to a stop as the cut stitched itself back together again, leaving only a faint thin pink line of where it used to be. Danny had to blink a couple of times, seeing the fair skin of Stiles' arm, now with a slowly paling scar left over. Blood was still on his arm, now without a point of origin, just sitting there as it drifted over the hairs and skin with gravitational help. Those were the only evidence left behind of him ever having a cut to begin with. Deaton moved quickly, reaching into his still open case to pull out a gauze pad, wiping away the blood and examining Stile's arm in the process.

"What was that," Danny asked his eyes still on the thin scar.

"Is that how he got this," Noah asked, pointing the Stiles' neck where the purple bruise was.

"Deaton what is going on," Danny pressed firmly.

"Alan what the hell is happening to my son," the Sheriff nearly yelled.

"Quiet!"

The sudden outburst from the always calm man stunned them both into closed mouthed positions with wide eyes. They both waited, keeping quiet, but no doubt the on the verge of bursting again if Deaton didn't start talking again. Danny was staring at the stretched out arm in Noah's hands, half expecting it all to be a trick. The only thing keeping him from thinking none of this was happening was the line turned scar where the cut was. Stiles now had another scar to go with the ones he has already suffered. It made Danny question what his subconscious was seeing, what was going on on the Astral plane. It scared him and he was trying so hard to not lose his head. All he felt like doing was screaming and crying at the same time out of pure frustration and fear.

"I don't know what is doing this to him," Deaton finally said running his hands down his face. "But we need to break him out of this. As soon as possible."

"How?"

"I'm going to make some calls," Deaton said with finality. "You two, find something, whatever it is, that might be able to bring his subconscious back to his body." 

With one final look of worry that still surprised Danny, the vet was gone, already pulling his phone out of his pocket. Danny couldn't sit still anymore either, so he jumped off the bed, kneeling down under it to pull out of the books Stiles had. He would look through them all, anything that mentioned astral projection, soul self, or subconscious. Noah stayed with Stiles, seeming lost in his thoughts, until Danny handed him a random book, not even looking at the title. The man eyed it for a brief moment, before taking it and then balancing it on his lap beside Stiles' shoulder, he opened it.

Danny sat on the floor, scattering the books around him, pulling out his phone as well to get the internet up and ready for him. There had to be something, somewhere that could help him get his friend back. He wasn't going to sleep until Stiles' was awake again.

 

*** * * * * * ***

Derek was unsettled. He couldn't quite piece together why. Aside from all the obvious points that is. He had been uneasy for weeks now, stretching into months even. He couldn't remember the last time he felt at ease. That might have been back when Laura was still alive. Or maybe after his pack was established and starting to really get used to each other. He couldn't decide. Both were a possibility and both were equally just wishful thinking. 

He stood at the far side of his loft, back against the large window, looking at the people littered around the open area. Jackson and Lydia pouring themselves over the Internet on Lydia's laptop, trying to look for any stories or hits on missing persons in the state and bordering states. A few have turned up, but nothing really promising. Peter had been on the phone all day, checking his anonymous contacts, trying to see if there was a trail, also help to keep tabs on the Alpha pack and learn anything he could. He was finishing up a conversation with one in the corner, pacing back and forth as he talked in hushed tones. That left Isaac and Scott.

Those two were piled on he only couch, looking at the maps, marking down places they have already looked, pinpointing other ones that could be possibilities, looking them up on their phones to see how far of a distance they would be. Their head were bent towards each other, both also talking in hushed tones. It was an odd sight to Derek, seeing the two boys looking like closed friends trying to work out a dilemma. Putting their heads together in hopes of solve it. There had been other times Derek had seen Scott looking so focused, crinkled brow and all, trying to piece together a puzzle. Only he usually had a talkative counterpart, one with whiskey colored eyes.

Derek had to shake that thought away. He couldn't think about a teenager who seemed to have wormed his way under Derek's skin. Derek didn't want to think of Stiles. Yet lately he couldn't help it. With Scott being around more and more, he often found his thoughts drifting to the hyperactive teen. It made him angry.

Stiles was not pack. He wouldn't be pack, not after what he did. Derek couldn't trust him. The same went with Scott, he couldn't forgive Scott and it wasn't like the boy willingly offered any sort of apology. So they stayed away from one another, barely exchanging words or glances at one another. Scott was just there to help find his betas, that was it. Scott didn't want to be part of his pack and frankly after what he had a hand in, Derek thought it best. However, he may not trust him, he wasn't going to turn away his help, nor his presence. The reason for that being he was a werewolf. Derek had enough problems and he didn't want to have to worry about Scott going off the rails because he didn't have a pack. The boy had Stiles, but Derek knew that the wolf would demand more. 

Although he did find it odd how Stiles hadn't tried to come with Scott for any of their research meetings. Nor had Scott offered to bring Stiles. Also that one day were Scott first came by, offering his help, then asking about Stiles' location. That struck Derek as odd, but he shook it away. Maybe it was because they both knew what Derek would say if they offered? Or maybe it was because Stiles really didn't want any part of this anymore?

The fact that Scott was nearby put him on edge. He was already on edge due to everything, so what was a little more tension. It also didn't help that he could not shake the feeling that sat in his gut like a dead weight when he thought about the boy. His wolf was equally troubled, whining and howling inside him, nearly begging to get out. He felt an itch inside him, an itch to get out and go, run somewhere, but he couldn't guess where. He felt that lingering, troubled feeling for the entire summer but he couldn't remember when it started. Maybe it was after the Alpha pack announced they were coming, he couldn't be sure.

But lately, in the past two days, it seemed to have gotten worse. It ran up and down his spine, leaving a chilled feeling in it's wake, making his skin crawl. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't like it. His wolf didn't like it as it howled at him from within. Or was it trying to tell him something?

“When are you going to talk to the boy,” Peter asked coming up beside him, still holding his phone which was now held at his hip.

Broken from his thoughts, he turned to look at uncle, who was eyeing Scott on the other side of the room. Derek lowered his voice so the others wouldn't hear. "Scott is not my concern right now.” Which was sort of true.

"You know your scent may not give you away, but your face does.”

Derek gave a low growl at his uncle. "We have other matters to focus on."

"True," Peter said with a cluck of his tongue at the end. "But I worry about you possibly tearing a kid's head off."

"I'm fine, Peter. Now do you have any information or not?"

"Not," the older wolf said. "There have been no reports of missing young werewolves in the area. As for the Alpha pack, everyone doesn't know much more than we do. Everything based on their reputation and/or rumors."

"So basically we have nothing." Derek huffed out, clenching his fists together as he took several deep breaths to ignored the pacing of his wolf. "We need options which we don't have."

Peter leaned against the window with Derek, his body turned towards him. Folding his arms over his chest, he rolled his eyes at Derek's statement. “What we need is a fresh pair of eyes and a brilliant, wise cracking mind.”

Derek nearly released an internal groan. He knew his uncle was getting at without having to ask. He was not surprise the man would bring this up now. He had been expecting it to happen at some point. “No,” he said a little too forcefully under his breath.

"You don’t even know who I am referring to.”

"He is not part of this," he said ignoring his uncle. "He has also made it clear he doesn’t want to be here either.”

"Hm, I wonder why that is," Peter said with heavy sarcasm.

Derek set his jaw, refusing to look at his uncle. He didn't look at Scott or Isaac either. He instead focused his attention on Lydia and Jackson, typing away on the keyboard before them. "I cannot overlook what he did."

He saw his uncle nod a curt nod before saying, "Yet you turn your head away when it is was Scott who practically pulled the trigger.”

"I havn't given his a pass either," he said honestly. His eyes went quickly to Scott, who was still talking with Isaac over the maps. Derek honestly couldn't determine if or even when he could forgive Scott.

"Yet _he_ is here."

Derek stifled another growl from escaping his throat. He could feel his wolf pacing inside him. He could hear it whine and growl often at him, seemingly at odds with his decisions. Derek had to maintain control. He had to in order to help his pack. What good would it do if he lost control because of his own emotions? He turned his eyes to his uncle, feeling them narrowly bleed red for a second before he started to ask. "Why are you being so astute on this?

Peter raised his eyebrows, looking ever bit as annoying as he did when Derek was a kid. "Why are you being such a child on this?

Derek was frustrated. He was annoyed. He was agitated and worried. Everything combined into the package that made up his body. The fact of him being constantly on edge wasn't helping. He usually could deal with his uncle, but right now he wanted to be left alone. Yet he knew that if he tried to leave, Peter would become even more of a hassle in the future.

But Peter ought to know why Derek was so adamant about this. Derek didn't want a repeat of the past. He didn't want to let his walls down for everything to crumble around him. He thought he could trust Stiles and instead that trust was shattered, even if it was do to the best intentions. Stiles knew how much Derek felt about the bite, about Gerard. So how could Derek open up to him more when he already used his feelings as ammunition. Derek did not want his current pack to suffer like his family had, not because of Derek's mistakes again. It would surely kill him.

"I will not allow someone else in so that they can ruin us," he said with a hard, quiet tone. "Not again."

Peter seemed to soften for a second or maybe that was a trick of Derek's eyes. Peter had not been soft since before the fire. When he spoke, his voice was quieter but still with an edge of gruff. "And you think Stiles will do that?"

"What am I supposed to think?" He asked his uncle in exasperation.

Peter seemed to consider for a moment before settling on an answer. His tone sounding sure of itself. "I believe there is something more that we are not seeing."

Derek didn't want to argue with his uncle. He knew it wouldn't do any good. So he silently agreed to disagree whether Peter wanted to or not. Derek was not going to take the leap of faith that Peter wanted him to. Derek didn't want to bring Stiles back into the fold, despite what Peter was proposing. He kicked Stiles out of the pack, or at least he blatantly told him to stay away from it, and with good reason. If he did allow Stiles back and that was a _big if_ , he wouldn't be able to trust him. He wouldn't be able to let his guard down nor take Stiles' word without much worry or caution. That was not what a pack should be like.

A part of him did want to have the boy back. Believe it or not, that teenager was smart and often had good ideas. His wolf would agree to that. He was useful and even though he was annoying and flailing about most of the time, he had been growing on Derek. After Stiles saved him in the pool that night, Derek had really started to see what Stiles was capable of. Derek had never thanked Stiles for that, he hadn't thanked him for a lot of things, but now it didn't seem like he should. He had seen potential in Stiles, what he could be to the pack, but it meant he could see the bad along with the good. It was mess of a situation, one that Derek internally grappled with.

"I need time, Peter," he said more to himself than to his uncle. "I need to figure things out. I need to get my betas home, I need...I don’t know."

That was the only way he could put it. With everything and his constant state of alert and a sinking feeling of heavy weight inside him, everything was just...so much.

Peter seemed to nod in contented silence. Seeming somewhat satisfied with Derek's honesty. The man stepped away from the window, turning to go look at the table with a collection of tomes and books piled on it. Only he stopped before he moved away completely. Telling Derek something that registered deeply. voicing the same fear that Derek voiced a few moments prior, only now sporting a seemingly different meaning. 

"Well you better figure it out soon nephew.” He said as he turned back to give him a sad look. “I will not watch another pack get torn apart.”

 

 *** * * * * * ***  

 

Lydia didn’t understand what made her drive all the way there. She couldn’t explain it if she tried. The cold feeling running down her spine was a constant reminder of her dream or nightmare or whatever you wanted to call it. 

All she felt was the feeling of dread. All she could think about was Stiles. Like she said, she couldn’t explain it. She just felt it. 

She awoke screaming, something that was becoming all to familiar, only this time it was different. There was no tree, no blood leaking from within it. There was were no images that didn't make sense. This time she saw person. She saw amber eyes, like she did before, this time more clearly. Over the past week, her nightmares have been getting worse. A mixture of the tree and those amber eyes, but also accompanied by cold, piercing blue eyes that was unlike anything she had seen, even from the werewolves. She saw the amber eyes constantly, this feeling of dread. It wasn't until last night that those eyes turned away from her, drifting away to reveal Stiles. It was like she was watching him fall away from her, slowly drifting. She saw blood dripping from his body, his mouth open in a silent scream, his eyes unseeing and slowly losing the glint that she always remembered seeing in them.

She already felt the pure horror in her gut and the dread that followed at the metal picture, a picture she didn’t want. She had no idea why she dreamed it or why she dreamed any of the things she has been recently. It scared her. Yet with each night, they all came back, playing on repeat for her again. Only a few times she has screamed herself awake, giving her mother and Jackson a heart attack once or twice. She nearly scarred her mother to death, almost earning a run to the hospital or a 911 call. Jackson, however, seemed helpless and worried. Yeah, he has witnessed it all before with her, but now it was like he was at a loss of what to do other than hold her in his arms.

Lydia was all for that if it meant he could chase away those nightmares. All week she had been having those nightmares. The tree and amber eyes, mixing with snarls in darkness, and piercing blue eyes were haunting her, playing in her head like a home movie on repeat. All week she had been feeling something, something she couldn't really explain. Like a constant sinking feeling, like her stomach was dropping out from her body. She also felt like she kept hearing an echo in her ears, yet nothing she could make out.

Tonight when she dreamed about Stiles, Jackson wasn't there, not by his choice, but by Derek's. He was asking him and Peter to go with him into the Preserve to look for any trails for Erica and Boyd, keeping close to the territory border, but also maintaining vigilance in case the Alpha pack came near. So they were going to search together instead of splitting up.

It gave her the house to herself since her mom was still at work. She had only slept a few hours, but that was all she going to get. She didn't care at this point. With the nightmare fresh in her mind, she couldn't think of anything else. All she saw was Stiles and his blank whiskey brown eyes. The light they usually held gone, now unfocused, slowly turning white as they lost their color and his life faded from him. The blood she saw on his body was dripping from cuts, marked randomly across him, some deep cuts others shallow, but no less bloody. She didn't understand it, frankly she didn't want to.

She fumbled out of her bed, changing into the first pair of clothes she grabbed from her walk in closet. Grabbing her purse and keys she ran out of the house, nearly knocking over the vase on the side table near the door as her purse flew behind her. She hopped in her car and drove.

The entire way, she felt her breaths coming in a fast rhythm and her heart pounding. Her throat felt dry and achy. She didn't care about the speed limits, she just wanted to get to the person she needed to see. If she didn't do that, she might scream. She felt panicky and clammy, accompanied by the cold chill that seemed to stick to her skin, making her hairs stand up. The time of night did nothing to deter her. Maybe she was going crazy, maybe she was on the verge of a mental breakdown?

Or maybe, just maybe, that damned feeling of dread, making her feel sick, was telling her something.

The more she thought about it, the more it would not let up, in fact it got worse. Something was wrong and she felt like her insides wanted to burst. The whispers were back in her mind, like a crowd in her ears. The faster she drove, the closer she got to the house, she kept telling herself she was getting closer to the person she needed to see. 

She had to reassure herself. She had to see Stiles. 

*** * * * * * ***

A little over a week passed as they fought to find a way to bring Stiles out of the Astral plane and wake him up. Nothing worked. Danny had poured himself over the books Stiles had in his room, reading everything that dealt with the spirit, soul self or anything remotely helpful. Deaton was coming and going, checking up on Stiles before heading out in search of more answers. He made calls to his contacts in the supernatural community and got next to nothing. 

Danny learned that Deaton didn't give out names, nor did he reveal what Stiles was, keeping it as anonymous as possible. He told them only the basics, asking all he could about the Astral plane. It turns out there really was not a lot of information. Few have ever been able to reach the Astral plane and there were vague descriptions of what it was like. Other than it was made of magical energy and matter, no one really knew what was there. It was supposed to be a mirror world of our own, a separate plane that was nearly identical to the physical. So shouldn't it have the same things we do?

They had all done as much research as they could. Deaton went back to the clinic everyday, dealing with his clients, but also going through his stash of books and notes, even making calls there then coming back after he closed to report what they already knew. Noah took off work everyday this week, saying at first that he was not feel well, then later saying that Stiles was feeling bad with the same symptoms, saying he would stay home to help him get over his fever. Yes, that was all a huge bunch of bull, but Danny was glad he didn't have to do the research alone. Not to mention he was glad for the company as he sat with Stiles day in and day out looking through book after book and surfing the net, all while Stiles stayed unconscious.

Luna huddled in nearby, never leaving Stiles' side, whining and keeping her big brown eyes on his face, like she expected him to wake up and start petting her. It was a sad sight, even to Danny.

Danny hadn't slept, eaten little for the week. He didn't even think about it. Not until half the time Noah would shove a plate or bowl of something under his face, getting his attention. Most of the time it was soup or spaghetti. Danny didn't finish all of it, no matter what any of it was. He ate enough to satisfy Noah's or Deaton's concerned gazes and then went back to his reading. He supposed it wouldn't do him any good to pass out from starvation or exhaustion while trying to find a way to wake Stiles up, but he couldn't help it. 

Especially after more cuts showed up. The second one came later that first night. This time of his leg, right below his knee. They nearly didn't see it until Luna started whining, nosing at the blanket covering his legs which started to turn red under her nose. Before they could press anything to the cut to stop the bleeding, the cut healed, just like the first one. The next one came the following morning, across his lower back, that happened when Noah was changing Stiles' shirt, it was good thing too otherwise that one would have been soaked. The sheets were not so lucky.

After that, Danny helped Noah move Stiles to his master bedroom, laying two towels down on the bed before settling Stiles on top, just in case. It was a smart move on their part as more cuts appeared as the week went on. Scaring the lot of them shitless each time, watching as the blood seeped out, Stiles' face becoming more stoic with each new cut. It had been getting so bad that they could see Stiles' skin taking on a paler, sickly look. With the lack of nutrition his body was getting, Deaton made the decision to try and get change that. He brought over an IV and fluid bag one morning, hooking it up on an metal stand, injecting vitamins and minerals into the bag, hoping it would help replenish what Stiles was losing. The whole time Danny could feel the slight thrum of Stiles' magic around him and he tried to take comfort from that, telling him that Stiles was still here. After cuts appeared on Stiles' side and over his thigh at once, they watched them heal, and then Noah nearly threw the television off the dresser in a fit of rage and sheer worry. Danny dared not say anything because if he was being honest, he wanted to do the same thing. All of the research they did and with each passing day, they came up with nothing.

More wounds came and went, each one leaving a pinkish-white scar behind. Some were small, others larger. The larger ones seemed to appear on bigger portions of his body, like his back, his legs, and the one on his side. There were some that looked like stab wounds, no longer than a couple inches, but bleeding profusely before they closed. It drove all of them to points of fear that neither of them spoke afterward. If Noah felt anymore anger, it was muddled by the terror of what all of this meant. Stiles was getting hurt, tortured or stabbed, whatever on another plane, with no help, and none of them could do anything about it. Danny had never felt so powerless before and he was no where near as powerful as Stiles was. That much was obvious now. The more cuts that appeared, the more scars were left over. His back and arms were the worst, criss-crossed lines of paled skin, none of them raised, but still there in fine lines. Far away, you couldn't see them, only up close. Danny found that they were all he could see, reminders of his failures staring at him in the face.

Danny had performed a couple spells, in secret when Noah was asleep or out of the room and Deaton was at the clinic, trying to force Stiles awake. He even tried to do a spell that would allow him to see into his subconscious, but it drained his energy too quickly that he couldn't hold it long enough to see if it could work. Danny didn't want to give up, he couldn't. He knew Stiles wouldn't if the roles were reversed, so he wouldn't dare think of it. They had to keep trying.

Lydia’s arrival at the end of the weekend after this long, seeming endless week, came as a jolt to everyone. They didn’t expect visitors and to be frank they didn’t really want any. 

Danny was close to turning the girl away, no doubt coming to ask for more Stiles' help. But when he opened the door, huffing out a sigh as he did so, the girl burst through the threshold without a second glance to him. Her face was pinched in a worry, her green eyes red rimmed and looking everywhere like she expected something to jump out at her. She was dressed haphazardly, something Lydia never ever did. Yoga pants, a long gray T-shirt, and a blue cardigan, with neon green tennis shoes made up her attire. It was like she just finished exercising, but mixing it with her long mussed hair like she had been running her fingers through it for a while, made Danny think maybe not. Something was wrong.

He felt his Spark thrum in him for a moment, like a cord was struck on a guitar, something that momentarily stunned him. It wasn't unusual, mostly he felt it around Stiles. Maybe he just didn't realize it was still doing that after a while.

She looked at him, her make-up free face studying his like a doe caught in headlights. "Stiles. Where's Stiles?"

Danny didn't bother to hide his surprise. He was too tired to care. After a little over a week of a few hours of sleep in total, he was thinking not much would shock him right now. He felt run-down and his limbs heavy. As the girl before him looked from him to the living room, to the other side of the foyer where the study was, most likely thinking Stiles would come out to reassure her. When he didn't speak, her eyes started to glisten a little, but she held firm, asking again where Stiles was.

When Danny glanced upward on accident, that was enough for Lydia as she started climbing the stairs. Danny followed behind her, not bothering to really stop her, but also not wanting to Noah to get upset because she was here. They didn't bother going to Stiles' room, all Lydia did was take one glance then keep going down the hall. They had moved Stiles to Noah's room, giving them more room in the master bedroom to do their research and keep on an eye on Stiles. Arriving at the door to the room, the girl froze with her breath catching in her throat.

Noah was on the bed with Stiles, a large tome from Deaton in his lap. At their appearance, he looked up. The man was as exhausted looking as Danny was. His eyes bloodshot, his face deeply marked with worry lines, turning it into a grimace. When he saw Lydia, he sat up a little straighter, his hand moving to Stiles' arm in a sign of protection.

"Lydia?" The Sheriff asked.

"He's dying," she said quickly, making time seem like it stopped. Danny was looking at the side of her face, while Noah stared at her fully. Neither said a word, neither knew what to say. Was this a joke to her? She didn't even know what was happening. 

"What-" Danny was about to ask when Noah made gasping sound.

They all looked to see Stiles' face twist in pain as a cut appeared on his forearm, deep and oozing blood. Danny moved at the same time Lydia did. He went to Stiles' other side on the bed. Lydia hopped on the foot, her green eyes wide as she looked from the cut to the two men's faces. They didn't notice the cut on his neck either, from the back near his hairline to the front, close to his collarbone. Blood was dripping down to the hallow of his throat, a stark contrast to the pale of his skin. It may not have been as bad as it looked, but it did nothing for their nerves nor did it take away the terrifying sight of so much blood now oozing out of Stiles while he stayed completely still.

"What-What just happened," Lydia stammered.

"It's a long story," Danny said quietly, not taking his eyes off of the cut which was slowly closing.

When Deaton came in, holding his case, his dark eyes landed on Lydia. He didn't seem particularly surprised to see her, but then when had the man ever really been taken round the bend. No one paid attention to him long enough to warrant a greeting to him. Everyone huddled over Stiles' limp form. The vet moved over to Stiles' right side, nearly shoving Danny away so he could get to him. The blood was running down his arm and neck, staining the towel they placed under him when they moved him into the room.

The three men were starting to get numb to seeing new cuts appear on Stiles' body, blood draining out of him. Lydia however, was shaking. She looked like she was trying to hold in her tears. She watched in horror as Deaton managed to hold a piece of gaze to the one on his neck until the cuts closed on their own like they have been doing all week. At least he didn't get any stab wounds like he did earlier.

"There has to something that can be done," she pleaded, her eyes on Deaton.

"He is trapped in the Astral plane," Deaton said, not going into detail of it all. They would get to all of that later. "We don't know how, but we have been trying to wake him up all week. All of the energy he is releasing is taking it's toll on him and with his subconscious still away from his body, he is slowly declining."

"No, there has to be a way," she said shaking her head.

Danny put a hand on her shoulder which she ignored. "We have been trying."

"Then try harder!" She yelled, tears now in her eyes. "He can't die. We have to try something. Anything. We have to let him know we are here. We have to call out to him, signal him."

That was an odd statement to Danny. He didn't think about it like that. He supposed he wouldn't considering they have been trying to wake him up, not signal him in a way. He doubted it would work anyway. He has tried multiple times already to call out to Stiles. Yelling and shouting at him and nothing worked. Even when he was left alone with him, in private moments he has tried. Speaking only to Stiles, pleading for him to wake up. Danny hated seeing him like this. So still and hurting, getting marked by an unseen force, leaving the scars behind. If Stiles woke up, Danny feared what Stiles would be like when he saw the scars himself. There were more now on his body, littering it in pale lines, mostly on his chest and back. Only the small ones on his arms, except for the big one from that first night. It tore Danny apart seeing them and it made him cringe thinking about what Stiles' subconscious was seeing on the Astral plane.

No one seemed shocked by her outburst. They all were thinking the same thing. They didn't want Stiles to die. But his body was declining. With each passing day he was growing paler, sweating. The boy hadn't eaten or drank for since before he had fallen asleep. The toll of staying under for so long was drastic and was making his body shut down. His losing of blood was not helping when he was not getting nutrition. Deaton had already put the IV in his arm, but it seemed to not be helping. Danny could feel it inside him, his Spark telling him what they all knew, Stiles was getting worse. The more time passed, the more Danny could feel Stiles' magic declining, weakening in its potency. There was no longer a thrumming energy from him, but a slight murmur of what it used to be.

Stiles barely moved anymore. His head was not turning in the slightest and his face was becoming more and more impassive, no matter how many wound he was getting. With all the research they have done, they were still at square one.

"We don't know how," Danny found himself saying. "We have been trying, nothing has worked. Normally one could wake up on their own, come back from the plane, but something is interfering."

"Something or someone," Noah questioned to the entire room than anyone in particular. "Those wounds, those scars are not happening because he is lost."

Deaton sighed heavily, wiping away the extra blood and then throwing the gauze away in the trash. "I agree, but that still keeps us at a disadvantage. We have limited sources and nothing to go on but what we know."

They didn't get a chance to question further, because Stiles body started to shake. It was convulsing like he was being electrocuted and his mouth falling open in a silent scream. His eyes remained closed as they all watched. The floating objects shook in the air and then seemed to crash to the floor, thudding against the hardwood, sending vibrations up the walls. The levitating desk light fell, the bulb breaking on impact. No one took their eyes from Stiles as a large cut went across his chest from one shoulder down to the ribs on his opposite side, scarlet blood soaking the shirt and staining it like the towel below him.

At the sight, Lydia suppressed a scream, her hand covering her mouth. Deaton rushed to cover the wound, trying to prevent further blood loss. Noah was helping him, holding his son still as he shook. His face returned to a deep grimace, the pain evident in his features, yet still he did not wake.

Lydia nearly fell off the bed as she went backwards, her knees underneath her as tears blurred her green eyes. Danny trying to hold Stiles' legs in case he started kicking. They waited the next moment out, watching as the wound started to close, not doing anything for the blood or the soaked shirt. Stiles' body stopped seizing, and then went completely still a single breath rising from his body, then leaving quickly.

When Danny let go, he reached out with his Spark. He wasn't trying to do magic, but he was trying to sense it. Sense Stiles. Only he didn't feel much of anything. There was no hum of energy, there was no warmth of magic around him. It was fading. 

Deaton was holding Stiles' wrist, feeling his pulse. Danny could have told him that it was slow, slower than it should be and getting less and less. His eyes went dark with deep fear and Noah was no different. Lydia was whimpering on the bed in soft sounds under her breath.

"No, no, no," Noah was saying, trying to shake Stiles' shoulder. "He needs to wake up." Deaton just stood there, looking entirely lost even under Noah's panicked gaze. "Wake him up. Magic did this, magic can undo it."

"Noah I-"

"He is my son!"

Danny could feel his own terror rise. The more he felt with his own Spark, the more he felt Stiles' dwindle more and more. It was like a flame slowly burning out. He sensed it before, feeling it get weaker as the week progressed, but now it was so weak that it was barely there. One little blow and it would be gone. Danny knew what happen then.

Stiles would die. A Spark could not live with out the body, a healthy body. Just as the body couldn't live without the mind. Stiles has been away from his for too long. It was killing him. He was deteriorating in front of them and they were powerless. Danny could channel as much energy as he possibly could and it would not help. He could make it worse or nothing would happen at all. He wouldn't know where to begin if he did try. No magic wouldn't help them with this. Magic did this!

Danny couldn't keep back the burn in his eyes as he felt Stiles slipping away. They were losing him. He looked at Deaton were remained like a statue, caught in his own fear and sadness. Noah was nearly gripping Stiles so hard his knuckles turned white, holding him to his body as if it would hold his son together. Lydia was silent, nearly unmoving as everyone else was helplessly watching.

Danny looked at her suspiciously. The redhead girl was looking at Stiles’ suddenly still form with fear in her eyes, her body shaking. Her lips kept twitching and her hands grasped at nothing by her folded legs. The girl looked like she was going to jump out of her skin. He thought she was close to having a panic attack, only she never slipped over the edge. She was sweating and she was sitting mostly still aside from the shaking that seemed to radiate mostly in her shoulders and arms. Her emotions mostly running rampant on the inside rather than showing on the outside. 

Danny felt his Spark shudder inside him suddenly. He couldn’t put it in exact words but it was like his body was shaking on the inside. The more he felt it, the more it grew and a nagging feeling was in the back of his head, trying to tell him something. The longer he stared at the girl, the more his Spark pulsed and squirmed inside him.

He had never seen Lydia look like this. She seemed like she was slowly falling apart. She was at a loss of words, at a loss of what to do. Her mind racing while her body was shuddering from something unseen. She looked like Stiles did when he had too much energy. Jittery and shaky, unable to suppress it. There was only one time Lydia looked like that before. He remembered seeing her from afar at the YMCA pool, looking much the same. He saw it from the jeep a little distance away, as Stiles helped to comfort her, Danny stayed back to give space, but he did observe. Even then she was the picture of frightened, shaken, and looking like she wanted to scream.

That thought made his Spark ignite briefly inside him. It made his mind race. The more he played that over in his head, the more his gut was telling his to run with it. His Spark supporting it, equally humming with it, like it was waiting in anticipation. He tried to turn it over and over in his mind, trying to get a picture of why. He tried to concentrate, his hand instinctively grasping the necklace around his neck. To anyone else in the room he may have looked crazy or like he was trying to pray, but he didn't care. This nagging feeling was calling out to him and for some reason he couldn't ignore it.

The more he thought, the more he tried to picture what his Spark was trying to get him to see, all he got was images of Stiles. Stiles hurt, still, bloody, and pale. Then he got Lydia, wild green eyes and mouth open like she was about to scream. Those picture kept flashing in his head, going back and forth faster and faster, until they were blurs and then the thrumming his felt in his gut turned into a shaking scream that shook him out of his daze. He couldn't help but think about something he vaguely remembered from a long time ago. He just thought about it, having no real idea why, but he couldn’t shake it. Now he had a hunch, one that he was going to test. 

He grabbed Lydia’s hand, the one closest to him, the one clenching her thigh. She was shaking under his fingers, but she didn’t flinch at his touch, seeming to not notice. He shook her shoulder, trying to get her attention. When she finally looked at him, her eyes were unfocused, tears glistening in their depths.

"Lydia, you can help him." He said slowly.

She blinked at him, but there was no recognition in her eyes. "What?"

"Call his name," he said, growing more sure. He felt it in his Spark. It was telling him to keep going, telling him what his gut was telling him. He was onto something and he had a good idea what.

Deaton was looking at them both and Noah was too, eyes red and wide with tears as he was holding onto Stiles. "Danny what-" Deaton began only for Danny to ignore him.

He pulled both of Lydia's hands into his. "Do you feel like you want to?" She looked confused by his question, so he tried again. "Do you feel like calling him?"

She cast her eyes over to Stiles, her bottom lip trembling. She slowly nodded her head. "Yes."

"Tell me what you feel Lydia," Danny said.

"What are you-"

Danny held up a hand to cut Noah off. He gazed at Lydia intently, trying to coax her to speak. She stammered over her words a few times, but she was able to get it out. "I want to...I don't know. I want to shake him. I want to force him to wake up. He is dying...I can see it. I can't do anything about it. I-I don't want...I just feel like screaming."

"Then do it,” he said his eyes hard on hers. “Scream his name, Lydia.”

”But I-“ 

“Just trust me,” he implored. “Do it. Call him.”

The girl turned her eyes back Stiles ever growing pale face. His skin cold under clammy looking and no doubt cooler than it should be. That had to change. He had a hunch so he had to believe it. No room for doubt. Danny was near panicking anyway. He could feel the declining sense of magic in the air as Stiles was fading away. Noah had tears streaming down his face,  Deaton with raw worry that Danny had never seen before. Both with confusion on their faces, but Deaton was looking at Lydia was scrutiny.

Danny was getting impatient. If this didn't work then he didn't know what they would do. They were out of options and Stiles was too far gone. This had to work. Danny trusted what his Spark and his gut was telling him. They couldn’t wait anymore. 

“Lydia,” he said harshly as she stared at Stiles, “Scream!”

Something in the girl seemed to break then. Her eyes going blank, looking at nothing, not even seeing Stiles anymore. Danny saw her shoulders dropping at the same time her pink lips opened releasing a sound that he could only imagine up till that point.

She screamed, piercing and powerful. It shook the room, the house even. The windows in the room shattered from the force, the bulbs in the lights broke overhead and the television burst. The IV stand and bag, shuddering. It made Danny’s teeth vibrate as he held his hands tightly to his ears. Deaton and Noah doing the same. Noah still had Stiles against his side, but he seemed to favor keeping his ears from bleeding out instead of holding his son. Both men had looks of pain and awe on their faces as the girl before them screamed a name.

“STILES!!!!!!!!!”

Danny could not tell how far and wide her voice radiated out, but he couldn’t care at the moment. He was praying this would work. He momentarily worried that she would blow Stiles' eardrums out since no one was covering his ears, but this is what he wanted. He wanted him to hear her. If she was screaming as loud as he suspected, there was no way he wouldn't.

The scream lasted only a few long seconds, but it seemed to last much longer, echoing around them, reaching every crevice of the house and beyond. When it was done, Lydia looked a little relieved, her eyes bright with tears as they fell freely down her cheeks. Her mouth slack, panting a little, like she just expelled all her energy in that scream.

Just as quick as the scream came it stopped, returning everything to a dead silence. No one moved, no one dared breathe. 

It wasn’t in the next second that Stiles’ flew up in bed, sitting upright so fast that  everyone nearly jumped. When his eyes opened, they were glowing a brilliant golden and honey hue. Sparks of fiery red and glistening orange and flecks of smoky brown, swirling in their depths. When he woke up a shock wave radiated from his body, like a pulse of heated air. Rocking everything in the room, nearly toppling what was left of the damaged television, but knocking the IV stand over, thankfully not tearing the IV out of Stiles' arm. Making everyone stumble backwards bit more in shock than impact at the same time. 

Danny was the first to move followed by Noah, both trying to get into Stiles like of vision only for the boy to look at neither of them, his eyes still glowing and yet, unfocused on anything. Before they knew it, his eyes closed, and his body dropped back onto the bed, passed out cold. 

Deaton reached out quickly, checking his wrist for his pulse, feeling his head, closing his eyes in slight concentration. It took a few tense seconds, everyone on the edge of if they were back where they started. Danny also reached out with his Spark, feeling the steady hum in the back of his mind, the familiar presence of magic that was not his own. Not taking it as false hope, he reached forward, putting his hand on Stiles' leg, concentrating, searching for the reassurance he needed. He pushed some magic into Stiles, muttering a spell, one that would tell him that Stiles' heart was beating faster than it was before, his breathing evening out, his magic no longer a flickering flame, but the pit of fire that it normally was. 

Danny sighed in the relief at the same time Deaton did. Noah was holding onto Stiles looking at Deaton expectantly.

“He will be okay,” he said quietly. 

“He’s asleep,” Noah said fearful. “Sleep is bad I thought we established that.”

"This is not the same," Deaton reassured his long time friend. "Technically Stiles was never asleep and he needs it. He is exhausted and his mind needs this, not necessarily his body, but we will wake him up in a few hours.”

”We can’t let him sleep,” his dad protested. “What if he doesn’t wake up again.”

"I will stay with him,” Danny said automatically. His eyes on his friend, the feeling of his magic like a settling weight on his chest, somehow making him breathe easier after this long week.

Deaton nodded. Noah seemed reluctant to leave his son and seeing as how everyone else was the same, it was probably best that someone make some coffee. "I'm going to go make a pot," he said quietly, slowly retracting himself from Stiles' side. Danny watched him leave the room, cracking his neck as he went. Deaton was looking at Stiles for a moment longer, almost seeming to contemplate leaving as well. Eventually he walked around the bed, after checking the IV in his arm one more time, reaching to pick up the toppled IV stand from the floor to set it upright so it could drip properly. Danny slowly pulled himself up on the bed n the vacated position Noah left, sitting gingerly on the side next to his friend.

He wanted to rest, but he knew he couldn't. He could barely believe that his hunch worked. He could barely believe that Stiles was here with them again, or at least on their plane. He just hoped it stayed that way. He worried that Stiles would slip away again, right under their noses. So no he couldn't let his guard down. Not yet, not until Stiles was awake.

Poor Lydia didn't seem to know what to do. Which was a first for her. Deaton seemed to notice too, because he put his hand on her shoulder, silently coaxing her to look up at him. "Come downstairs with me," Deaton said to her, his eyes thoughtful, helping her up from the bed. She still looked in a daze, but she went, leaving Danny to watch over Stiles alone, something he was kind of grateful for. "I think there is a few things we should talk about," he heard Deaton say.

When he was alone with Stiles, Danny took a deep breath, trying to settle his frayed nerves. It didn't really work, but he didn't care. He kept a close eyes on Stiles. Trying to see any sort of reaction from him, anything to warn him that Stiles was falling under again. If he had to, he would slap Stiles awake. Stiles may find it funny having Danny stare at him like a creeper, but Danny didn't care. He would lose more hours of sleep, not eat or drink, not even breathe if it meant Stiles would be okay again.

That is what he hoped.


	13. Secrets to Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR SUPPORT AND LOVE! This chapter is shorter than the others, but it leaves room for a bigger chapter in the future, one I think you all will enjoy. Finally we get down to the real secrets and our favorite banshee comes into the fold. Let me know what you think and what you want to see happen! Have fantastic, magical week ya'll!

 

If Stiles was awake, he wasn't sure. He heard voices, whispers and then higher tones, one gruff and the other one, lighter and younger. They sounded familiar but the haze around his mind couldn't piece it all together. He distinctly felt something pressing against the entirety of his body, soft and cushioned, but he couldn't tell what. He wanted to open his eyes, but he didn't have the energy for that. So he kept them closed.

It was better that way anyway.

It meant he couldn't see the horrors around him. He remembered all too well the last things he saw before he fell into the deep blackness. The faces he seemed he just couldn't escape from. He remembered the pain, the anger, the desperation and fear. He also remembered someone calling his name.

Now here he was in a white space. Wait, wasn't it black a moment ago? He could have sworn that it was. He looked around, seeing nothing. It was a room, all white and seemingly endless. White space and a light gray squared ceiling. As he watched the room, it was fading in and out, the same voices getting louder and then fading just like the room. Stiles turned trying to find the source of the voices. 

There were a few times he heard his name.

"Stiles has always..."

_Wait, what?_

Who was that? That voice, he knew that voice. It was light and soft, with teasing undertones. It sounded strangely close too. It was dark now, the white room disappearing as the darkness engulfed it. He felt the same plush feeling beneath him, softness on his skin, and warmth. He could also smell something bitter and strangely comforting. Maybe coffee? Along with another smell, it was woodsy with a light smell of lavender. That was very familiar. Like...Danny?

"Tell Stiles-"

 _Huh._ _Tell Stiles what? Who was that?_

He knew that voice. It was gruff and sounded tired, strained in a way. He knew that voice. It was his dad. He wanted to reach out, open his eyes to find his dad. It felt like forever since he saw him, but in truth, he had no idea how long. He was exhausted, that much he knew. He felt like his body was a heavy weight, pressing him further into the softness that seemed to cling to his back. It was a curious feeling, but it was oddly comforting.

He wanted to hug the man, feel that he was alright. That was more for Stiles' benefit than his dad's but he didn't care.

"Claudia..."

Mom. His dad was talking about his mom. He never really talked about her. Neither of them did. They just kept her close, silent memories of her, but never outright spoke of her except in important moments. If it really was his dad speaking of his mother, was he talking to Danny? Was Danny here? Why were they talking about his mom? Why the hell can't he wake up?!

He wanted so bad to see open his eyes, to rest his gaze on them. He couldn't though. For some reason, he felt like he had to remain here like this. As he faded in and out of the white room, he caught more talking. So he focused on that, relishing in the voices of the two people he wanted to see most right now. Stiles felt more energetic than he did a while ago, or maybe a long while ago. Maybe it was hearing his friend and his dad's voices? Maybe it was something else?

He felt his magic within his chest, swirling and warm, flickering like a flame under his skin. He felt a strange tingling on his skin, a slight pull inside his chest, but he ignored it, in favor of listening to Danny and his dad. He took comfort from their voices, hearing them so close. They were a little muddled together, but the more he ignored that pull in his chest, the better he could hear them. So he concentrated, straining his ears to hear them.

 

*** * * * * * ***

They sat in silence for a while. Noah had made coffee, bringing some up for Danny while Lydia and Deaton stayed downstairs to talk. Danny didn’t need to be be down there to know what they were talking about. He had already put the pieces together and now it was a matter of getting Lydia to see the whole puzzle. So he would leave that to Deaton to fill her in. Anything the girl didn’t know or wanted to know, she would ask and then later do research on.

She and Stiles were more alike than Danny first noticed. Both with a innate curiosity to understand and the brain power to dig deeper to uncover what they wanted. Speaking of Stiles, it had been hours now since he had woken up from his astral coma. 

It was still a sight to see Stiles like this, completely immobile. He may be sleeping, but this is not normal sleep. This is bone dry, drained, exhausted sleep. Danny had to do double and then triple takes, checking his pulse, and then feeling with his Spark to make sure that Stiles was really back, really in his right plane of life. When he could feel the growing thrum of the other boy’s magic and see the slow rise and fall of his chest, Danny relaxed just a little. He wouldn’t truly relax until Stiles was awake.

They should be shaking him awake now, but at Deaton’s instructions to let him rest, everyone reluctantly agreed. 

This type of exhaustion is very taxing. Danny can understand to a great deal how much. It took magic to get Stiles to the Astral plane and an even more amount to sustain his stay there for over a week.

And with Stiles who came very near death where his body nearly shut down from it, it was safe to say he needs his rest. His magic needs to replenish itself and that in turn will help him heal. Danny  was glad to see some color back in Stiles skin, although not much. But at least he was not starkly pale and looking like he was fading away. Danny could even see that the boy’s weight had gone down, the lack of nutrition making his magic eat away at his body, trying to sustain itself and therefore him while he was in another plane. 

No one really noticed it till now. Too hellbent on trying to bring him back, researching and going through every source they could easily get in the frantic week. No one took the full look to see what Stiles’ body was going through other than the cuts. Aside from losing a few pounds, Stiles gained more scars. Thin white lines now speckled his body, some long others short. Mostly covering his torso and arms. A few on his legs.

At every glance, Danny felt anger spike in him. Anger and grief, rage and despair, all bubbling under his skin. The evidence of yet another traumatic experience Stiles had to go through, one where no one knew exactly what all happened but could only guess. All they got were the aftermath effects of what was happening to Stiles in the Astral realm. Now they had to wait and hope that Stiles would tell them, tell them what he went through for the whole week. If he ever would. 

When Noah brought him his cup of coffee, he smiled at thanks, but didn't immediately start drinking. He just kept sitting on the bed next to Stiles, his eyes on his lap, staring at nothing, but lost in his thoughts as they kept taking him to the possibilities of what Stiles faced. He must have looked rather tense since Noah cleared his throat sitting in the chair he pulled up to sit next to Danny. 

"He will be fine," Noah said gently, nestling his own cup in his hands, sitting back in the chair, his eyes on Stiles before looking at Danny. "Thanks to you."

Danny scoffed. "I did nothing."

"Oh I beg to differ," Noah said, taking a sip of his coffee, his blue eyes still trained on him, a smile in their depths. "I think your quick thinking might have saved my son's life."

Danny shook his head, finally taking a gulp of his hot coffee, enjoying the bitter taste, hoping the caffeine will help keep him awake. "I still did nothing. I had a hunch, a theory that panned out. That was all."

"Theory or not," Noah said, leaning forward a bit, urging Danny to look at him, "you helped save him. Stiles would never let you belittle that and neither will I."

Danny felt himself give a small smile. The Sheriff was right. Stiles would not stand for him to think he did not help. He would most likely slap him upside the head for thinking otherwise and then thank him. Danny didn't want praise or gratitude for this. Not after the week long quest to wake Stiles up. In fact he wished it had never happened. Despite them all learning about how magical Stiles really is, Danny wished it didn't take Stiles being in danger-again-to learn about it. He and Stiles already knew about him being a mage. They learned that over a week ago, they just weren't sure what that meant. They still don't really. That was something Deaton would talk to Stiles about after he woke up.

Same was going on with Lydia now. Deaton was trying to tell her everything he could about her. Deaton was not an expert of everything supernatural, but he did have a few sources that could help him when he needed it. Not to mention years of experience as a Druid and former Emissary. So he could help Lydia understand far better than Danny ever could. That was just how it was.

"I didn't ever think his magic could go this far," Danny heard Noah say beside him. "Admittedly I never suspected I would have to worry about such problems. Yet again he surprises me. He is so much like his mother."

Danny didn't know what drove Noah to talk about his late wife, Stiles' mother, but he kept quiet for a few moments. He barely remembered the woman himself. Having met her a few times when he was young. He and Stiles were never really close when they were kids, something he kind of regrets these days.

He still remembered bits and pieces of those days. If he tried hard enough he could remember her long brown hair and brown eyes, so similar to Stiles'. But that would be all, everything fading away to just fragments of things he wasn't sure if they were real or made up. Mostly he remembered his parents, Jackson, his grandmother and some other people from his childhood. He could only see her face from the pictures around the house, momentous of her before she died. He did remember a bit of that. He remembered a few times at school where Stiles would cry, especially soon after her death. He was always trying to hide it, but not many people would say anything on it. Not many people talked to him then anyway. Danny would always feel guilty for those years passed.

So the Sheriff offering up this kind of information freely was surprising to Danny. He thought the man was like Stiles, not saying anything about his mother, never bringing her up out of pain and grief. Danny never pressured, even after learning about Stiles' magic. He suspected Stiles' mother had magic or at least had something in her blood she passed to him. He always assumed Noah knew nothing about the supernatural so he thought he was purely human through and through.

"You were planning to tell him,” Danny asked hesitantly, wanting to know truth. He had gone over a week, the nagging question in the back of his mind going unanswered so why not ask now, right? “That you knew about...all of this?”

Noah nodded his face turning into a frown. “I tried so many times."

"What stopped you," Danny asked, his curiosity gaining more ground.

The man shrugged taking another sip from his mug. "I could never get past my own fears. I never could find a way to tell him.”

"Even I know that Stiles has always been pretty open minded," Danny said with an edge of laugh.

"That's not what I mean," Noah said, dragging a hand down his face then around to the back of his neck. "I spent over a decade, his whole life in fact lying to him."

Danny waited patiently, watching as the man before him took on a sad look that stemmed from years of guilt or sorrow, he couldn't tell. There wasn't anything he thought he could say at that moment, so he just sat there, balancing his mug in his hands, letting the Sheriff say what he wanted on his own. Danny could see where Stiles got that from. When he did speak it was with a hitch in his voice.

"Claudia, his mother, wanted to tell him. Both of us planned to tell him on his tenth birthday, knowing he would have a better understanding then. But when she fell sick, it all changed." He said swallowing hard, not looking at Danny, but at Stiles, still asleep. "She still wanted to tell him, but the more her memory failed her, the more she saw the effect it had on Stiles.”

"He never really spoke of her, what happened after..." Danny let the sentence drop, hoping the Sheriff would understand that Stiles still found the memories painful.

He seemed to, nodding his head slowly. "I guess I had something to do with that as well, for never really bringing her up. Treading lightly like the very mention of her would send him into a downward spiral."

"Did you ever to find help, anything to help sustain the spread, give time?”

He shook his head, his eyes glazed over with memories. "No although it didn’t stop her from trying. She tried spells and did what research she was able to get done. Even Deaton tried what he could to no benefits.”

Danny perked up at the vet's name coming into this. So this is where they know each other, he couldn't help thinking. "Deaton knew his mom?”

"They were friends. When we moved here after she got pregnant, she met Alan. Before settling in the territory, we asked permission from Talia Hale, since this was pack land. A witch in the territory who was not an Emissary would have been seen as a potential threat. Alan, the acting Emissary at the time, introduced us to Talia."

"You met Talia Hale," Danny said in surprise.

Noah nodded a small smile. "She was quite the woman, even then. You could tell she had a presence, even I, a human could feel it. But she was welcoming, warm and open, something Claudia was grateful for. As time passed, working a deputy I worked alongside Talia a few times, mostly when it involved supernatural business that needed to remain hidden and Claudia worked with Alan at his clinic."

"They bonded over shared talents, but it was more over Claudia's desire to help animals. She loved it. She took classes to become a vet, getting tutelage from Deaton before she got her license as a practitioner. Then she worked with Deaton full time, both running the clinic."

"Until she passed," Danny said, although he cringed at his own words. They didn't need repeating.

"Yeah," Noah said sadly.

"Why not tell Stiles all of this?”

Noah sighed heavily, slumping in his seat, forgetting about his coffee now. Danny having much done the same. "After she got sick, Stiles through himself into studying, learning what he could, while hardly ever wanting to leave her side." The man looked so downcast that if like was cartoon, there would be a storm cloud over his head. "He tried to find a cure, anything in medicine to help. There was nothing that could be done and Stiles was too young to accept it.”

Danny nodded, imagining a young Stiles with books scattered everywhere, barely sleeping, scrambling to find answers. Nearly bringing himself to tears out of frustration and the impending fate that was moving closer and closer. The very thought of the boy beside him, fighting for others even so young, made his heart swell and break at the same time. Maybe it was the loss of his mother that drove Stiles to protect others?

"But magic-"

"Magic would have given him false hope." Noah said moving to set his cup on the nightstand beside Danny, then sitting back in his chair, keeping his eyes on the comforter on the bed. "As I said Deaton tried and so did she. His contacts proved to him that for such a complex condition there was no cure. They could whip up potions or perform spells to possibly prolong the inevitable, but the side effects would have been too great. Claudia didn’t want that. She wanted to still be _her_ while she could.”

"So you kept it from him."

"It was an effort to. Claudia was so upset about not being able to tell him. But she did try to leave it behind for him.”

Danny felt his eyebrows furrow. "What do you mean?”

Noah smiled a sad smile, his eyes glistening. "She wrote it all down. Everything she learned, everything she wanted him to know. It was her last chance to show him the truth before she no longer could remember it." Noah took a shaky, deep breath, grounding himself as Danny saw his eyes water just a little more. "She spent weeks writing it all in the book I got her. Deaton helped her even in her hard days when her memory was nearly gone.”

"Why didn't Deaton mention any of this? He knew about Stiles' magic long before the rest of us. Why didn't he say anything a year ago?" Danny was nearly about to split open with all the information. It was so much more than he expected to get from the man. He obviously wouldn't get anything from Deaton so he was surprised Noah would share so willingly. He could only imagine how Stiles would feel once he knew.

"We asked him to not speak a word of it. I wanted to be the one to tell him. I took the book when she was done, hid it away until I hoped to tell Stiles.”

Danny watched as the man's face contorted into a grimace, his eyes still on Stiles' still form, breathing in and out evenly. He knelt forward, his elbows on his knees and he clasped his hands together. Danny noticed he was shaking a little. Trying to hold back tears or finally admitting the truth after so long. Maybe it was both. 

”I never should have let it go on for so long," Noah said in near whisper. "Even after I found out about Derek and Scott." At Danny's raised eyebrows Noah gave a little smirk, reminiscent of Stiles. "Yes I know about them too. The puzzle pieces were there I just had to put it together."

Danny swallowed around his suddenly dry throat. Trying to choose his next words. There was so much he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask, but he settled on trying to be comforting. "After all this time, Stiles tried to keep you away from it all. Yet you knew. You were trying to protect him in return.”

"Part of me wishes I never should have," the man said with a shrug. "The other part thinks I should have tried harder. If I had, maybe then things would be different. Maybe me and him would be closer."

"What!?" Danny couldn't help the sudden rise in his voice. The ridiculousness of that last statement made him want gape and then slap the man. "You are close."

Noah shook his head, the frown on his face deepening, now showing on his forehead. "We used to be closer. But our times together have been interrupted by lies and secrets, both his and mine. I could have changed all of that if I told him the truth. Maybe then he wouldn't have felt the need to protect me. I cannot be mad at him for that, not even a little. I failed him as father, I failed his mother too."

Danny wasn't having this. Enough of this pity party. They couldn't change the past, but he wasn't going to sit by and watch the Sheriff beat himself up over this. If he was being honest, they both were to blame. Their stubbornness obviously having lead them to this point. Danny knew about what it meant to let secrets and lies rip a family apart. This was not the case. Sure they made mistakes, but Stiles would do anything for his dad. After losing one parent, he knew Stiles would move mountains to keep the other. Danny knew about failure, this was _not_ it.

"Look you are not the only one who has lied. Sometimes it is necessary." He said, trying to get the man to understand and stop wallowing in his mistakes. "Sometimes it is easier to hide."

That got the man's attention. He looked at Danny with a mixture of surprise and curiousness, but then change to a wariness that Danny couldn't place. "I take it your parents didn't know you were a witch," Noah asked.

That question sparked Danny into silence for a few moments. He didn't expect this turn of events. He didn't expect learning about Stiles' mother and therefore about Stiles himself, turning into a question about him. About something that was personal to him. He didn't know what to say now anymore than he did when other had asked about his parents in the past.

It was a time he would much rather forget if his was being honest. The very memory of his parents was hard to bare sometimes. He never spoke about them, just like how Stiles never spoke about his mother. The difference being is that their stories were very different. Danny had meant to tell Stiles, about his magic. He had been hiding it from him, hiding it from everyone. The only person who really knew was Deaton and that was because Deaton put it together. He wasn't sure if he even should tell Noah. But given how the man opened up to him, virtually a stranger, he figure maybe he should do the same. He had been holding it back so long, maybe letting someone else know, someone with a history of knowing about the supernatural would make it a little easier.

"They knew," he said after gathering the courage to speak. "They were witches too."

Noah's eyebrows went up some. "Really?"

At Danny's nod, the man leaned forward just a little, asking tentatively, "What happened to them? I was only a deputy at the time, but I never heard about what happened to them."

Danny didn't speak immediately. It wasn't that he was trying to find the right words, but trying to force them past his lips. The very memory of his parents was flooding through his brain, making him feel tongue tied, and his heart speed up. Only two people know about his parents. Himself and his grandmother. There was no one else. Not even Jackson, his best friend, knew about them. He never could bring them up. Jackson did though, several times, but Danny would always round on him, telling him to drop it.

It was something Danny kept to himself, leaving it for him to grieve alone. He did that enough as a kid. Even now it still hurt. Yeah this was a bad idea, he never should have admitted to anything.

When his silence stretched for a long few moments, Noah held up a hand gently trying to tell Danny it was okay. "You don't have to say-"

"No, no, it's okay," Danny said sadly, trying to move past his thoughts. This was still a bad idea, but he owed Noah something, right? "To be honest," he said looking at the Sheriff, meeting his eyes, "neither have I."

"What," he asked.

"I never heard what happened to them. Not since they left."

"L-left?" Danny could see it, the moment it clicked for Noah. The realization at the words, the harsh truth now coming clear. "Oh. I didn't...I so sorry."

Danny shook his head, waving his hand to dispel the man's pity. He didn't want it. "No it's okay." _Lie._ "That was their choice."

"That doesn't make it right," Noah said softly, but firmly.

Danny shrugged. "They left enough behind to remember them by anyway."

"What do you mean?"

Danny looked down at his hands, holding the mug still. The dark liquid long since cold. He moved one hand to his neck, pulling the necklace from beneath his shirt, the small metallic charm at the end warm in his hand. He spoke carefully, weighing his words as he thought them, letting them slip out as he did. "My magic is not the same as Stiles' or Deatons'. It works differently."

"I don't follow," Noah said in genuine confusion.

"There are different ways to harness magic. Your spark is either a force to conjure it, a source point, or it is a director. Magic can be harnessed by runes, spells, potions, and rituals, even objects," he said in one quick breath.

"What are you saying, that you don't actually have magic?"

"Exactly," he said in a whisper only they could hear.

"But-"

"I am a witch, but there are different interpretations of what a witch is or rather subgroups of them. I fall in the _Hedge_ witch group. It means my magic is not my own." At the Sheriff's stunned silence Danny went on, ignoring his own bitterness. "It does not come from me. In order for me to do anything, it has to come from a source. My Spark is not strong enough to store magical energy, only to direct it. If I try to use my own energy, I become weak often becoming ill. If I use too much, I can kill myself. I have to have a source, channel that magic from it and direct it with my own Spark for my intents."

"And Stiles?"

"He is different. I am not quite sure how much, but I know his magic derives from him. His Spark provides magic. Sure he can probably channel it from other sources, but he doesn't have to. His Spark is strong enough to pull the energy within himself to bend it towards his will."

When Noah nodded his understanding they sat back in silence. Letting everything that Danny said settle. The kid had no idea what Noah was thinking, in fact he didn't want to know. All he had running through his thoughts were his parents. The day that they left, the day when he stopped believing in fairy tales. He remembered that day as clearly as if it were on screen. As clearly as he saw Noah in front of him now. Time didn't make it any less painful.

"This," he said holding up the necklace in his hand. "This is where I draw my magic from. This was my father's. It was his talisman and before that it was his father's. This is the last thing he gave me."

"I'm so sorry Danny."

Danny shrugged, not looking at the man. "It's okay. Like I said they left."

"You were their son, a witch yourself. It is not okay," Noah said honestly, his voice bordering on sadness and tinge with anger. "Did they ever tell you? Before they left, what you were?"

Danny shook his. "I figured it out on my own."

"Your grandmother?"

Danny nodded. "She knew, but she only mentioned it after she caught me passed out in my room after trying to learn a spell. She later explained everything to me. What I was, what I could do, what I could not do, and that was all."

"Is she-" he started to ask but then let the sentence drop slowly.

"No, Gran is not a witch. She just knew based on her mother being one and her son. It doesn't always follow the next generation. Although the potential is always there," Danny finished as an after thought. He wondered himself is his Gran ever wanted to learn magic.

"So she never knew about why your parents left," he prodded gently.

Danny shook his head, scraping a hand through his short hair. "No," he said. "You can imagine her surprise when she woke up that morning, finding me at the door calling out for them."

Noah looked at him with such sadness that it made Danny's inside twist and his gut flutter. This was one reason why he never told anyone. He hated seeing faces like that. He saw it plenty when people found out his parents went missing, at least that is what the official story was. What are the odds of both parents leaving their children, unless it was due to an accident or kidnapping or something? The chances are very slim. So the police put out a search for them, only to come up empty two months later, saying they were giving up the search. Danny expected them to find nothing. He didn't know how he knew that, he just did. His parents were long gone, without so much as an explanation. 

"Does Stiles know any of this?"

Broken from his mind he shook his head, not looking at the man, but at the wall opposite him, not expecting to see anything, but maybe a way out of his own memories. "No."

"Why not."

Danny shrugged, opening and closing his mouth, trying to settle on how much he wants to say. "I...I guess I don't know how to tell him. In our world, people like me, it is... different for them."

Noah didn't ask him to elaborate. The man probably had some idea about what he meant. So Danny just let the conversation drop from there. Both of them settling into a mildly comfortable silence as they waited for Stiles to open his eyes again.

"It seems that we both have things to tell him. Secrets that have been left unspoken," Noah said softly after a few moments.

"I'm afraid so."

 

Unbeknownst to them, Stiles had heard nearly every word. His head slightly turned away from them, the evidence of his overhearing coming from a single tear, etching from the corner of his eye, running down the side of temple into his hairline. Then he faded into sleep once again.

 

*** * * * * * ***

Danny still sat on the soft bed with Stiles, fighting to stay awake himself. After John left to go downstairs to talk with Deaton, Lydia came up.

She was quiet in her movements, almost like she didn't want to spook him or wake Stiles. She walked closer, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, closer to Danny. She looked at Stiles with expressions of sadness, awe, and confusion flicking across her face. Her strawberry hair was a little more presentable now, but still unkempt from the long night. It was morning now, the sun already rising and breaking over the horizon. It illuminated the room in a warm yellow glow, turning her skin to a golden pale color. Her green eyes were soft as she looked at Stiles, something Danny never expected to see.

After their last meeting, she was so shaken that he didn't know what to expect from her in the future. After the meeting before that, he thought she was going to avoid Stiles. Even then the idea made Danny want to shake some sense into her. To him, both of them were brilliant, easily top of their class. Lydia had always expressed her subtle joy of the competition that was Stiles Stilinski at Beacon Hills High. She hid her talent for years, but she confided in Danny a few times that her brain power was challenged sometimes by the boy next to them both, something she appreciated. Now that she no longer cared about her popularity or social standing, she allowed herself to really shine and quickly rose from a C average to front of the class with only Stiles to compete with. Danny had never thought they would be friends no matter what Stiles wanted, but now, seeing how she looked at him, with such emotion that she rarely showed, he thought maybe he could really be wrong.

Something changed between them and he wasn't sure what it was. 

"So," Danny said in a shy voice. "A banshee huh?"

Lydia looked at him with wide eyes. She seemed to contemplate what she should say, but eventually she settled on a shrug and a small nod. "I guess so."

Danny tilted his head, considering his next words carefully. "You don't seem happy about it."

She shrugged again, her eyes now looking at the comforter beneath them. "I'm still not quite sure what it means."

"Didn't Deaton explain it to you," Danny asked confused.

Lydia nodded, settling onto the bed more fully, pulling her knees up to her chest to wrap her arms around them. "He did. He told me everything I wanted to know, after I was able to speak that is. What it all meant and what my instincts-as he called them-would be telling me."

"Then what are you unsure about?"

"What does it all mean...for me," she asked rather quietly.

Danny scoffed, stretching out a leg to nudge hers with his foot. "You think your life is over or something." When she didn't answer, keeping her eyes away from his, Danny felt the little smile on his lips fade. "You can't be serious?"

Lydia looked at him with plain confusion on her pale face, but she also looked angry. "Of course I don't. But I also see what this life has done to others. How much they have had to endure in order to get through one more day. I could only imagine a world filled with supernatural and magic and now that I live in it, all I see are monsters, nightmares, and pain. That is what I have to look forward to, Danny. Deaton explained enough, but being a Banshee, I literally am the voice of death."

Danny listened as she ranted, her eyes filling with tears and anger as everything came to her in a rushing jolt of what she now had to face. Danny didn't think about it that way. He was actually happy that another one of his best friend's was not quite human too. Now Jackson was a werewolf and Lydia is a Banshee. It meant that he was not alone anymore. He wasn't hiding from the two people he enjoyed having in his life. Now he had the both of them and Stiles, each one of them unique in their own way. Of course he knew that they were not a tight group, especially Jackson and Stiles, but at least them all being different than they once thought they were, was a start.

He never considered the consequences of having them all be different. Of Jackson being a werewolf, having an urge to shift and an even harder time controlling his anger. Stiles now a mage, learning to control his magic and understand it, not to mention deal with repercussions of a night that has changed him deep down that he will barely speak of it. And now Lydia, a Banshee who will be plagued with visions about death and will inevitably be drawn to them in some way for the rest of her life.

Then there is himself.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't think about what all this could mean for you."

Lydia grunted an affirmative, but rolled her eyes at him. "Such is fate I guess. I guess there is more to my family than first glimpses."

"Is your mom-"

Lydia shook her. "Even I can tell my mom is not like me."

They sat together, a few minutes passing as they drifted into their own thoughts. It wasn't until Stiles moved, just a small movement, his head turning to the side just a little, making them both look at him expectantly, holding their breaths, thinking he was waking up. Only Stiles kept his eyes closed, his breathing remaining even. It was clear to anyone who would have come in that they were disappointed.

"I never knew, never suspected," Lydia whispered, Danny just barely heard her words. She was staring at Stiles with such sadness and such awe that shocked Danny.

"What?"

"Stiles," she said. That was all she said, leaving it up in the air as if it explained itself. Danny supposed it did. The girl saw and heard enough to know that Stiles was not ordinary.

"He surprised me too," he said truthfully.

"I mean I suspected magic could be a possibility, but I never allowed myself to believe it. And from Stiles," she said in wonder, a smile starting at the corners of her lips.

Danny chuckled. "Well he never really suspected it either. You should have seen his face when he found out."

"I wish I could have seen the packs faces," Lydia said.

"Oh they don't know, but it will be priceless when or if they find out," Danny said before he could stop himself.

Realizing too late what he said, he immediately clammed up faster than he ever has before. Seeing Lydia's face she wasn't particularly surprised, but she still had the quiet, stunned expression in her eyes. Like she was taking it all in and then replaying it in her mind, just to make sure she understood and then repeating it to allow herself to believe it. Danny hadn't meant to say that, knowing that it was Stiles' wish to keep a secret, partly because it was his secret to tell, but also because he knew he owed the pack nothing, not anymore.

However, Lydia may have have found before all of them anyway. Did Danny mention that the girl was brilliant? 

She would have figured it out, possibly. Or maybe Stiles would have told her first. Either way, the rest of the pack didn't know and Stiles had hoped to keep it that way. Danny had to make sure she kept his secret, and his for that matter. He didn't want Jackson to know yet. He was still not speaking to his best friend either. Partly because of his treatment to Stiles in their last meeting, yeah Danny overheard what Jackson said, but also for Jackson's lying to him about him becoming a werewolf and all, wanting to hide it from him. 

That was the pot calling the kettle black, but Danny knew Jackson's reasons were for out of his own selfishness. He desire for more that was hardly sated until he got what he wanted. Jackson was always like that. At least until he met Lydia.

"Why," Lydia asked. "Why don't they know? Or at least Scott or Derek?"

Danny felt his irritation rise at the mention of those two names. It was something he couldn't really help at this point. Over the summer, he has learned a few things about them both. He has learned a thing or two about what Stiles actually meant to them and it was underwhelming even to Danny. In Scott's case it was worse, since he was meant to be his best friend. Hell Danny hasn't even seen a hint of him around town. Not once all summer. As for Derek, well that was more complicated. He was angry with the Alpha, after learning about what he had said to Stiles, assuming what Stiles had done, ignoring the condition he was in that night. Yet Stiles still went out of his way to help his pack, his missing betas. Danny may not like Derek and he may want to punch Scott in his puppy dog eyes for his blatant disregard of his best friend, but he respected Stiles even more for helping with Erica and Boyd.

Danny shook his head nervously. "That is something for Stiles to do."

"Then why hasn't he," Lydia asked, prodding further. "This is Stiles we are talking about. The kid who talks lovingly about curly fries and pop culture. I would have thought he would be spewing he has magic left and right just to shove it in the pack's werewolf faces." She finished with a smug smile that Danny wanted to return, knowing she was right on some level. But she didn't know the truth, the truth about the pack and how he found out about his magic, otherwise Stiles just might have gone about it that way.

"It is not that simple," Danny stumbled out.

Lydia was looking at him suspiciously. Her eyes went to Stiles, running the length of his body, before flicking back to him. She unfurled her legs, inching just a bit closer to him. "Danny what is going on?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "You just can’t tell them."

"Why shouldn’t I,” she asked with a hard look. "They will find out eventually."

"Because it is Stiles' choice."

She narrowed her green eyes at him, inching even closer to him. Danny hated it when she gave him that look. Something that said she was not keen on being lied to. Jackson learned that the hard way once. Danny was not looking forward to learning the same lesson. But this was not something he could share with her, he had no right.

"Speaking of Stiles," she said cryptically, "he has not been around the pack all summer. He rejected helping with the Alpha pack. Only said he would help search for Erica and Boyd, but his own way, although I suspect you were around for some of it. And Scott has asked me a few times if I have heard from him."

When Danny sat stoically still, she continued. "You two have gotten awfully close in recent months. And Jackson has also said you have been avoiding his calls and messages."

 _Oh God please, oh please don't let her think Stiles and I are dating._ Danny had to admit he like Stiles and he was attractive, but Stiles was right when he said that they could be nothing more than good friends. They had a companionship that they didn't see coming, one brought on by pain and pure unexpected events. Yet it worked. Danny was happy for it. Honestly, he never thought he and Stiles could be this close, and now that they are, he wished it had happened sooner.

"There is something you are hiding from me," she stated, pointing a finger at him somewhat lazily.

Danny sighed heavily, slumping in his seat, hoping to steer her away from any romantic thoughts. "Lydia, believe me, there is a lot I am hiding from you." When she opened her mouth to start her list of objections, he interjected. "I promise I will tell you soon, but there are some things I cannot say. Not yet. Stiles' choice to keep this from the pack is one he must tell you himself. If he wants."

"Why wouldn't he," she asked with a small shrug of a shoulder.

Danny resisted cocking an eyebrow at her. "Let's just say, it is not easy to bring up."

 Lydia sat back giving a little pout. It took her a moment to say, "I bet I can get it out of Scott."

Danny chuckled darkly. "What makes you think Scott knows?"

"Maybe because Scott and Stiles are best friends."

"Scott is busy with Allison to know about what is going on here," Danny said tensely. "I can assure you he doesn't know."

Lydia arched an eyebrow at him, pursing her lips. "Allison and Scott broke up."

Danny gaped at her, feeling his eyes go wide. That was...unexpected. He had to admit that was news to him and he didn't expect it. He also couldn't deny the slight bit of smug satisfaction he felt at the news. Then he also felt a wave of anger again once he remembered Lydia saying Scott had been asking about Stiles. Of course now that Allison wanted space from him, he wanted to run back to Stiles, although he hasn't really been making an effort. Danny was pissed on Stiles' behalf.

"When," he said instead of saying what he really wanted to say which was 'good for her.'

Lydia shifted, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "It was near the beginning of the summer. Allison has stayed over at my house a few times over the months, wanting some time away from her family and Scott. Given the circumstances before school let out, I can see why."

"You have no idea," Danny muttered under his breath. At her narrowed steely gaze he moved on saying, "I haven't seen her around either."

"She has been trying to work through some things. She has been meaning to talk to her dad, but she is still angry and upset," Lydia said with concern on her brow.

"If you had a grandfather like hers, wouldn't you be," Danny asked honestly curious.

Lydia nodded to slowly, settling down to a quiet stillness. Both of them getting lost in the memories of that night and finding out some horrible truths. It was the night that change a lot for them. Set things in motion that they couldn't foretell. Danny supposed they were both destined to come to a point like this, Lydia finding out what she was, and Stiles learning about his true abilities, and Danny coming to learn about them both, but it was that night that helped propel them to here and now. There was so much that remained unsaid as they sat together, both patiently waiting. And as they sat in the room, with the morning light growing lighter and lighter, the boy they had sat with, concerned about when he would grace them with being awake again moved.

Stiles sits up in bed quickly. His eyes snapping open and his breath leaving his body in a whoosh. Danny and Lydia both look turns toward him expectantly, matching looks of concern and astonishment at him finally being awake. 

What they didn’t expect wasn’t what came out of his mouth for the first time in over a week. 

“I know how to find Erica and Boyd.”


	14. No Longer the Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY IM LATE! I know it has been over two weeks. I was in the process of moving and trying to get my internet set up. Finally I have it back up and I'm eager to get back to writing. I made this chapter longer for all of you to make up for the time lost. I have already started on the next chapter and will post by the end of the weekend. Thank you all for the love and comments and I hope you are liking this story so far. Enjoy ya'll and let me know what you think!

Derek was at a loss. For days, the past week in fact, he had felt troubled, unsettled, nearly ready to break out of his skin. He had no idea why.

The Alpha pack still had not shown themselves since theirs calling card was made. He had no doubt they were waiting for him to make a decision but they wouldn’t wait forever. It was either he make a decision or they would make one for him. Derek feared that outcome and he did all he could to not dwell on it. His focus was still on his betas. His pack was not strong enough to go up against the Alphas. He had only two betas, his uncle who he guess he could also call a beta of his by association, and Lydia who was human. Scott may know about the Alpha pack, but he still wasn't part of his pack. The boy was just...around.

Derek wasn't really sure why Scott was coming over more and more. He had seen him every week, getting to be multiple days a week, often helping to search areas around town or in the Preserve. He and Isaac would often go out together, but other times he would go alone to cover more ground. Derek couldn't pretend he wasn't grateful for the extra help, but he was reluctant to accept it from Scott.

He tried to focus anyway. But for the past week he couldn’t. 

His wolf was much the same. Inside he felt like it wanted to break out, run and howl, desperately trying to get out of the loft and the confines around it. His wolf whined and growled him, but he couldn’t understand why. He felt confused, but he also felt the same cold shiver running up his spine with each passing day. His wolf echoed those feelings, deeply troubled like he was.

Was it the Alpha pack? Was this their way of sensing something wrong on his territory?

If he had an answer to that, he wouldn't be passing the days of the week pacing or sitting restlessly. Anytime he tried to stay still, he found he was still twitching, bouncing his knees or drumming his fingers together as an attempt to move. It was bothering Peter to no end, who was grumbling about it non-stop telling him to settle down. At one point, Peter was tempting him to drink some tea, but Derek never care for the taste of tea, so he declined.

Then suddenly yesterday, his wolf went silent. Completely still and without a single emotion. It woke him from his restless sleep. He was trying to get a few hours of rest, when he realized something was wrong. He didn’t understand it. He felt restless before, but then it was like he was punched in the chest and hole was left over, filled with nothing but air. He felt like he couldn't get air in his lungs fast enough and his body felt heavier than anything he could possibly lift, even with his Alpha strength. If he felt troubled before, this was _so_ much worse.

His senses alert and his focus went all around the loft, searching for a non-existent intruder. The wolf inside him, never once giving away anything. There was no input, no sounds or growls like he usually felt. It was total silence, something he never felt before. Derek had always been in tune with his wolf. Always felt something from it. Anger, sadness, grief, pleasure, but it was never this silent, like it was refusing to be present anymore. That hole that was left behind yielded nothing, just emptiness. 

Lately he couldn't help but feel like a stranger to his wolf. He couldn’t identify what it wanted from him or what it was trying to tell him. He hadn’t felt like that since he was a teenager. For months now he had been getting resistance from it. Angry growls in protests or sullen sounds that bordered on whines. Occasionally he would feel his wolf pace inside him, but mostly it would stay put, almost like it was curling up around itself, not bothering to move. Like it was asking 'why bother?' 

Derek didn't like that. He wanted to understand, but he didn't know how. It started ever since the beginning of summer and Derek had an idea why his wolf was at odds with him or why it was constantly trying to get his attention. He guess it had something to do with Stiles. After telling Stiles to leave him and his pack alone, his wolf seemed to take those words to heart as if Derek had said it to his wolf instead. It was upset with him. 

Derek did that for a reason. A good reason he thought. He did it to protect his pack and himself. How could he trust someone if they would betray him, taking the time to learn about him, just to turn what Derek let loose back on himself? He did that once, and he lost everything. He lost his family because he trusted the wrong person. The only people he could trust was pack. He had to believe that. Otherwise, God forbid he lose anyone else he cared about.

Now to have his wolf go quiet, after so long of hearing it all summer just to stop, like it was stunned beyond reach. What did that mean? He didn’t know what to do about it. If he was speaking the truth, he was terrified. Terrified and sad and he didn’t know why.

He nearly stumbled about five minutes later in shock when suddenly his wolf seemed to jolt into action again, howling and clawing at him again from the inside. His insides burning with a determination from his wolf. Renewed with a howl that rattled even him. This time it was every sound made was in desperation.

Still he did not understand. He tried to listen, but everything was so muddled together. He wished he could speak to Peter about this. Of course the man was not here, he was out who knows where. Also if he did go to him, the man would likely hold it over his head forever. Above all he wished Laura was here to help him.

Derek knew he was never supposed to be the Alpha. He was never meant to the one at the head of the pack. He had never been taught the pack dynamics the Alpha ran by, nor how to handle the power or the threats, both diplomatically or aggressively. He was running blind in all of this. Derek was grateful for the small bit of insight Peter has given him, but Derek needed more. He needed real help, someone to turn to. Someone to stand by him and offer their words when he needed it. Laura would be the perfect choice. She always knew what to do and if she didn't she would think hard on it and would give a well thought out solution. He missed her so much, sometimes it just hurt how he missed her. How he missed all of his family. What he wouldn't give to at least speak to them again, just for a little while. But then he couldn't be that selfish. Laura would scold him on the spot for that line of thinking.

With his wolf back and clawing at him to let it out and all kinds of thoughts dancing in his head, he made a choice. He threw on some joggers and shirt and did the only thing he thought he could do to gain some sense of grounding. He ran. 

 

*** * * * * * ***

Stiles was out of the bed quickly. He knew he was in his dad's room, he vaguely took it all in as he moved off his dad's bed, which no wonder he felt like he was lying on a cushion. He technically was. He didn't look at the other two teenagers when he got up, his mind on one thing. Well it was actually on a lot of things, but he decided to ignore the rest of them in favor of the one that presently mattered.

"Stiles?"

He heard Danny's voice, but he kept moving, round around the sitting Lydia, who he did barely registered, and heading out of the room to his own. He caught himself on the wall of the hallway as he stumbled, feeling his vision cloud and get spotted with dots, before it seemed that the hallway twisted a bit like a fun-house. He nearly wobbled on his legs, but he was able to hold himself up. He was ignoring the flip his stomach made at the sound of his friend's voice. Stiles imagined he wouldn't hear that voice again. The nightmare he had felt so real and maybe it was, he couldn't be sure. He felt everything that happened. He could feel his throat close up and his heart clench as Danny followed him, calling out his name. Stiles fought back the urge to touch Danny, just to make sure he was real, but then was the nightmare? Was anything he endured?

He shook off the odd dizziness and rounded into his room, pulling out the books Deaton gave him, flipping through the _Enchanting Herbs and Plants_ copy first. He was searching. Searching for the one thing that has become a regular in his dreams.

He didn't realize how quick he was brushing through the pages, ignoring Danny as he came in.

"Stiles, you said you knew how to find Erica and Boyd."

"Yeah, yeah, u huh," Stiles said distractedly. He barely heard Danny, his eyes still on the flutters of pages. It had to be in here. Or at least in one of these books. He had to find it. It was the only thing that could help. He knew that much. After finishing through the Herbs and Plants book he through it over to his bed, picking up the next book in his large stack that seemed to have gotten much bigger. Weird? He didn't remember having a book on _Rituals and Mystic Arts_. 

"Stiles wait a minute," Danny said, coming closer to him, concern laced in his tone.

Stiles was moving too fast. He couldn't stop. He could feel his magic twist and churn in his chest, equally as antsy as he is. 

"I have an idea on how to find them," he said absently, still looking through the text. Searching for the words that might help. There was some pictures too, but nothing was helping.

"Okay, how," Danny asked carefully.

Stiles didn't know how to answer that question. He was working off off intuition or his gut. Whatever it was. He had an idea and he was running with it. In his mind it made sense, but to someone else, he wasn't so sure. Stiles knew that Danny was probably going to ask him some questions. In fact he himself had questions. Like why was he in his dad's room? Why is it looking like mid-afternoon? Where is his dad? And Luna?

One thing at a time he told himself, he couldn't get distracted now. "I just...I have a feeling. That is all I can say."

"Well do you know where they are," his friend asked like he was trying to talk to a crazy person.

Stiles shook his head, still refusing to look at Danny, still brushing through pages as his eyes scanned as quick as he could. "No, but I may know of a way to find them. The tree, I need to find that tree," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"Tree," he heard Lydia ask near the doorway, but Danny beat her to it.

"What tree?"

Stiles answered haphazardly. Not really paying attention to their conversation. He had the image of the tree in his mind. His magic felt sluggish to him, but it was there, gently flickering inside him. He vaguely noticed his mouth was dry and he felt a little nauseous. Maybe that was from the dizziness. "There's a tree I keep seeing. Even when I was dreaming I saw it."

"Stiles," Danny said gently, tone soft and concerned, "you weren’t dreaming."

Stiles didn't hear what he said. He just bypassed it altogether and said, "Sure, sure. I need to go. I need to research a few things. Maybe go see Deaton. I think it all means something. I mentioned it to him before and he said he would look into it. I wonder if he found anything, I think he might have a little information. Yeah, I’m sure he would know something about it. Anything would help. Even if it is nothing, I think it would be good to know."

He was already gathering a few books into his arms, which felt heavy to him. Even with the three books he carried, he felt like he was about to drop them. They weren't heavy books. Stiles felt like his arms were made of jello. They shook as he attempted to heft them higher and hold them against his body so he could move. 

"Stiles dammit just wait a minute!"

Stiles stopped at his friend's raised voice. He looked at Danny for the first moment in what felt like forever. His nearly dropped his books just so he could reach out to touch him. Just so he could see if he was really there. He felt his throat close and nearly choked on a breath as he saw Danny's dark, concerned eyes take him in. Stiles took a moment to look at his friend, and he really looked at him. 

Danny had dark shadows under his eyes. He looked worn out, but his eyes seemed wary, focusing on every movement Stiles made. His hair was a little unkempt and his skin was paler. He wore a pair of joggers and an old looking T-shirt, as the color seemed faded. His clothes were wrinkled too, something he never saw Danny in. Danny always looked put together, almost as well as Lydia or Jackson did.

It made him wonder about a few things. Namely why was he in his dad's room?

"Where’s dad," he asked suddenly.

Danny's expression changed to said that he was caught off guard by that question. "Um...he took Luna out for some fresh air at the park. Said he’ll be back in a little bit."

Stiles nodded. "Okay okay, because I need to talk to him. Actually I need to talk to you too." He glanced at Danny quickly, trying to not fidget under the boy's gaze. "But first things first. I have stuff to do. Talk to Deaton and...I need my laptop too. That will help."

He was already looking for his phone and laptop. He couldn't find his phone, but his laptop was still perched on his desk, plugged in and ready. "Stiles," Lydia said, still softly, making her presence known again. She was quiet, almost reserved, but her voice was strong. That was something he felt very familiar with.  "This tree you are talking about, does it have a lot of branches? Looks very old? Kinda creepy?"

"Well I don’t know. I don’t know what it’s branches look like. It's just a stump. A very large stump. With big roots and a crack down it’s center," he said honestly, booting up his computer.

"Isn't that the same stump you mentioned the first time you had-"

"That dream? Yeah," Stiles finished for Danny.

Danny came a little closer, still inside Stiles' peripheral vision. "Stiles you weren’t dreaming."

"What do you mean," Stiles asked still not really looking at him.

"There's a lot you missed in the time you have been out," Danny said hesitantly, almost like he was talking to a someone who was scared.

Stiles stopped his typing, to listen a little better, but he still didn't turn around. "How long was I out? A couple hours? A day? What all did I miss in a few hours of sleep?"

"You really don’t know."

That got him to turn around. He was getting annoyed with these cautious questions and he had research to do. As hard as it was for a dream to be helpful, he thought he would give it a shot. Maybe that tree stump did mean something. _It obviously helped me wake up, didn't it,_ he thought to himself. "Know what?"

"What you did," Danny pressed gently, almost coaxing him.

Stiles wasn't having that. "What the hell are you talking about," he asked in exasperation.

"Astral projection Mr. Stilinski," Deaton said surprising them all, as the man stood in the doorway of his room.

Stiles didn't miss Danny turning his head to look at Lydia as she went to sit on Stiles' bed. "I texted him as soon as Stiles woke up," she said to dismiss his glance.

Deaton stepped into the room, holding his usual black briefcase that held his various items, both for natural and supernatural means. The man was in casual wear, but he looked different too. Like Danny he seemed to have shadows under his head, something that Stiles has never seen on the man before. Stiles never made it a point to notice these changes in Deaton, but it actually made him lose a little of the usual mask he always had on so Stiles saw that as a plus. Other than that, the man looked the same. Calm, quiet, demeanor, calculating and knowing eyes.

"Good thing I was on my way over here anyway," he said setting the case down on the floor. "It is good to see you up at about."

Stiles was confused now. What did Deaton mean? Why was Danny talking to him funny? Why was everyone's eyes on him, scrutinizing and wary, like he was about to have a breakdown? Stiles was missing something, he knew he was. Yet he couldn't understand what. The last thing he remembered before his nightmare was falling asleep with Danny, both of them in his room. Yet when he woke up, he was in his dad's room. 

Had something happened?

"Astral projection," Stiles said, remembering what Deaton said coming in. He read about that somewhere, but it was pretty ambiguous to begin with so it didn't make much sense.

Deaton nodded slowly. "What do you remember, before you fell asleep?"

"Uh...Danny and I were here, climbing into bed after talking for a bit," Stiles was not going to talk about what of, like how he created a spell, despite Deaton's strict advisement to never do such a thing, "and then we fell asleep."

"And your dream," Deaton pressed. "What do you remember from that?"

"Well it-" Stiles stopped. He never mentioned having a dream. Of course it was a nightmare, but that was besides the point. "How did you-"

"It wasn't a dream Stiles," Danny said somberly.

Stiles tried to hold on the little bit of hope he had. He knew all along that it wasn't a dream. It was definitely a nightmare, but his gut was telling him that it was anything but make believe. His magic knew it too. It settled inside him like a heavy weight as the memories of his nightmare flashed through his brain. He wished it wasn't real. God, he wished for that.

He thought that if he tried hard enough, then maybe he could convince himself that what he went through was just all in his head. That it was the darkest parts of his fears bleeding into his subconscious. But he knew better. No matter how hard he tried, those images would never go away. The feel of it all, the taste of what happened. He hated it. With everything he had, every fiber of his being, he _hated_ it.

And he couldn't forget.

Resigned to accept it all, he looked at all of them evenly. Stiles refused to break down in front of them. Even if he wanted to curl up in a corner, or run so far and so fast, or scream his lungs out until he had no breath left in him. 

"So astral projection huh," Stiles said a little bitterly. "Who would have thought?"

They all stared at him with mixtures of curiosity and surprise on their faces. Danny seemed unsure of how to approach his question. Stiles didn't bother to tell them it was rhetorical. Deaton seemed unfazed as always. "You don't sound surprised."

Stiles shrugged, but he said nothing.

"What happened over there?" Danny asked softly, his dark eyes full of worry. Stiles could tell he was dreading the answer, but the inevitable itch to ask because of one's own curiosity was sometimes too powerful to ignore. "On the Astral plane," he clarified.

"Nothing," Stiles said dismissively. He wasn't going to tell them, at least not everything. He will tell them enough, enough to get them to see, but that was it. That is if he could bring himself to talk about it.

"Stiles-" Danny began.

"Nothing happened. I was...trapped there, I guess. I handled it the best I could."

Stiles shook his head. He really didn't want to talk about this. He wanted to curl up and sleep. He also wanted something to drink. He felt parched and like he was going to fall over. He wasn't dizzy anymore, but he felt sluggish.

"You can talk to us," Danny said almost hesitantly. Stiles could tell that Danny didn't really want to know the truth. Danny just asked because he had to know. Otherwise it would be like a burning question he could never stop asking. When Stiles still refused to answer, he went on, sounding a bit stubborn. "You had cuts that healed and bruises. Some of them deep. Those don’t just show up on their own randomly. They healed as quick as they came."

"Did I," Stiles said absently. He was picturing each cut he remembered. Each one, now a mark of where he had actually been. Now he had a name for it. It wasn't his dreams, but the Astral plane. "Huh."

It was quiet for a few moments, no one saying anything. Stiles was torn on wanting to break it and wanting to revel in it. It was Danny who broke the deafening, heavy silence.

"That's all you have to say? 'Huh.' You were practically in a coma on another _plane_ for over a week. Bleeding out with each new cut that magically healed and slowly withering away from the trauma and strain your magic was doing to your body and you have nothing to say. Look at yourself! Look at your scars! Look at your body." By the time Danny was done, his eyes were glistening, hands balling up into fists.

Lydia was much the same by that point. Her eyes coasting over him, attempting to be subtle, but not succeeding. Stiles hadn't looked at his body, he didn't really need to. Like he said, he remembered the cuts, every single one. He didn't know that he now had scars from them. Scars that now went along with the ones he already had. Stiles swallowed hard, avoiding everyone's gaze, avoiding looking at his arms lying in his lap as he sat by his desk with his computer. Instead he stared at the floor, like he was guilty. 

Maybe he was? 

Eventually he would see the devastation left behind, but he didn't need to right now. It was all still fresh in his mind anyway. It was his magic that took him to the Astral plane. He should be practicing control over his magic and not how to do spells whenever he wanted. Regardless, what's done was done. It also explained why he felt so run-down. It explained why he felt like he had no energy. He understood now the bags under Danny and Deaton's eyes. He could only imagine how his dad looked.  

A week. It had been over a week. Stiles was asleep through all of it on this plane while he endured the Astral realm. He could feel the heat of tears prickle at his eyes. He lost a week and he caused it. He made his dad and Danny worry about him, because he did not have a handle on his magic.

"Stiles, please just tell us something," Danny said pleadingly.

"I can’t," Stiles said honestly, holding himself back from looking at his arms, at anybody. "I just-I...I just need some time. To process it all or get my head back on straight. I...”

He couldn't finish. What else could he say? He didn't want to talk about it. It wasn't that he didn't trust Danny or that he didn't want to tell him everything. He was afraid of what would happen if he did. Stiles feared what Danny would think of him. If he knew the truth, he feared the look Danny would give him. He also feared that if he allowed himself to _feel_ it all now, he would never stop.

"Okay," Danny said quietly, moving towards Stiles, to put his hand on his shoulder carefully, gently as if he was made of porcelain. "Okay."

Stiles nodded in thanks. It was a silent thanks to Danny for getting where he was going with this. The boy had gotten good at reading Stiles when he was like this. Never pushing too far and never overstepping on his quest to understand. "Anyway," he said after a moment, taking a deep breath before letting it out. "Back onto other topics. Since you are here Deaton, the tree, the one I keep seeing. I think it means something. 

"Does it look like this,” Lydia asked pulling a piece of paper from her purse at her side to show them. Stiles looked at it curiously. The paper had a drawing on it, in blue ink, more of a sketch, like a doodle than anything, but it was enough for Stiles to notice the similarities. The difference was that Lydia’s tree has branches, reach up high and tall. They went off the page, showing how big the tree could be, but all Stiles saw was it's base, large and wide, with roots that seemed to creep up onto the side and then run deep into the ground.

"Yeah. I guess. Like I said I don’t know for sure because I only ever see the base since it was cut down."

"Let me see that," Deaton asked holding out his hand. Lydia passed him the paper, letting him take a closer look. The vet's eyes scanned the picture, taking in the detail, his brows furrowed. "You remember that spiritual place I told you about after our first conversation on this," he asked Stiles after a moment.

Stiles nodded.

"Then you remember what I said about certain spiritual spots possessing a kind of power. Raw and un-tethered. One thing I did not mention was these places of power laid at the place of corresponding ley lines. However, they are not always natural. They could be the very rest place of massive ritual sacrifices, or protected and blessed sites. Those that do present in nature will always be found at crossing ley lines, represented by a natural conduit to release that power. In this case it is called the Nemeton."

"A tree has a name," Lydia asked skeptically.

Deaton shook his head, "It is not just a tree. The convergence of these natural energy lines are proof of that. There are many all over the world. Ley lines are forces of potent raw energy, only the supernatural can sense. It is believed that these are manifestations of Nature’s magic. The Nemeton is the physical representation of that source of power."

"You make it sound like Nature is an entity, like a god or goddess," Lydia said quizzically.

Deaton nodded his head a little. "You are correct. For Druids, Nature is an entity. Often portrayed as a Goddess. Interpretations has changed over time, but the basis remains the same. Nature is seen as force, an eternal consciousness that weighs over everything."

"Okay but I have never seen this before," Stiles admitted. "At least not for real." 

"Neither have I," Lydia said after. "So how am I drawing it?"

"Oh and why is hers standing tall," Stiles asked quickly, making it a point.

Deaton studied the picture for a few heartbeats, his eye scanning the lines of ink carefully. Stiles wished he could tell what he was thinking. "I cannot say on that last part. But Nemeton or Nemeta for plural, acts as a beacon to supernatural. Anyone who is within miles of one can feel its pull. Like magnetism."

"So your saying there is a literal 'beacon' in Beacon Hills," Stiles asked.

"That is exactly what I’m saying," the man said as he gave Lydia back the drawing that she folded and put back in her purse. "Beacon Hills was given it's name because the founders of this town were aware of the supernatural and they too saw the pull the Nemeton had on the creatures that wanted to find it. It is raw power after all, many would seek to use it."

Stiles noticed how Danny was being very quiet about all of this. Just standing there like a statue, face turned down in a frown, eyes on the floor. It looked like he was uncomfortable with this. The reason for that Stiles couldn't guess. "So why are we seeing it in our dreams," he asked carefully, trying to monitor Danny's attitude.

"Perhaps you can both sense it now that you are more open to your abilities. Or that it is a side effect of the power and it exudes. It is different for every being who is part of the supernatural," Deaton suggested.

"Both of us?" Stiles had asked, looking at Lydia questioningly and with equal amount of confusion and curiosity.

Danny answered for her, "Like I said, you missed a lot."

Stiles took that in. His curiosity was peaked that was for sure. But there was a time and place for that. He made a mental note to talk to Lydia later. He had a lot to catch up on it seems. Who knew that he would miss so much in a week? He had a lot to make up and he needed to talk to his dad and Danny as well. There some things being unsaid right now with Danny and he still hasn't seen his dad. 

"So you knew," Stiles said looking at Deaton. "Ever since I brought it up the first time you knew it was the Nemeton."

"I suspected it was a chance encounter," the mocha colored man said, looking at him evenly. "It is not out of the norm for those new to their abilities."

Stiles hated how even after all this time, after their lessons together, the man was still being cryptic. It didn't mean he didn't know why. The man had years of being an Emissary and a Druid. He had to be secretive. It was part of the job. If he allowed his secrets and knowledge to be known, who knows what people would do with it. That also meant people who wished to do harm. Stiles had no doubt that if Kate Argent was still around, she would sacrifice anything to gain the knowledge Deaton had. Stiles couldn't be too bitter about Deaton being cautious. But still, he wished for a day when the man would trust him. Just like he wished that for Derek, but that was a ship long since sailed.

"So even if we went out to look for it, we wouldn’t find it," Lydia asked looking at Deaton, voicing what Stiles was planning to do. 

Deaton shrugged his shoulders and his lips. "Hard to say. I have tried in my younger days to find it, but I never could. It has been said that Nemeta possess the abilities to cloak themselves. Even with magic, you wouldn’t be able to find it. It has to _want_ to be found."

"It sounds like it’s consciously alive," Lydia voiced.

"Indeed. That wouldn’t be a lie. There is still much to be understood when it comes to the Nemeta, even the one here in Beacon Hills. All manners of trying to find it have proven useless. Very few have come to lay their eyes on the Nemeton," Deaton said matter-of-factly.

"Then how are you aware of it? How do you know what it looks like," Danny asked then, sounding curious, voicing what Stiles was wondering.

Deaton looked at him honestly. "Because my mentor had seen it and it does have a history in this town. It's history is rather clouded, but it is said to have been cut down out of fear of it’s power."

"Who would do that?" Lydia asked, leaning forward to put her arms over her knees.

"Take your pick of the supernatural creatures and hunters around the world. If the power a Nemeton can give is as strong as hinted at some will crave it and will do anything in an attempt to harness it. Others will seek to protect themselves from that," Stiles said in conclusion seeing how that would be very bad. Raw power was something many would kill for, many have proven that time and time again. The Argent's were first to pop into his head without much thought.

"Quite right," Deaton said with a nod.

"Well then I guess it is a good thing it is hidden," Lydia said. 

"Yeah."

Just then they all heard his dad come into the house, the familiar clap of the door being close and the clicking of Luna's nails on the hardwood floor below. Stiles moved before anyone else did. He was a little unsteady, but he didn't care, rounding out of his room, narrowly missing Deaton with his arms. He bounded down the stairs and stumbled into his dad who barely caught him as they clung to each other. Stiles held on tight to his dad, who stood frozen for a split second before he wrapped his arms tightly around his shoulder, a hand in his hair, pulling him ever closer.

"Son," his dad whispered into his hair as he kissed his head.

Stiles couldn't talk. He knew the moment he saw his dad, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from wanting to throw himself at him. The urge to touch his dad, to hear his voice, and see him was stronger than Danny. He wasted no time as he clung to his old man, burying his face in shoulder his new too well. If he felt a tear or two fall from his eyes, he didn't notice. He was too relieved, too happy to hug his dad again.

Luna was whining and huffing around them, her nose and body nudging at them both as they stood there, not breaking away. The sound of her nails echoing in the foyer. Stiles could feel her soft fur against the bare skin of his calves and knees. He took even more comfort from that. The symphony of her soft whines and her incessant need for attention helping to spur a calmness in him as he breathed in his dad's cologne and the scent of the house around them.

Finally they broke apart, his dad gently pushing his son back just a bit to look at him. His dad's warm hands cupped his face. Stiles realized that he had tears in his eyes, a relieved smile on his face. 

"Dad stop," he choked out. "If you start crying then I will too."

"I'm not crying," his dad said, swiping away at his eyes, before pulling him into another hug again. "Who's crying. I just...I'm glad you're okay."

"Me too," Stiles muttered against his dad's shoulder.

Everyone else came downstairs, soft expressions on their faces. Stiles stepped away from his dad, just to kneel down to pet Luna who was still overjoyed to see Stiles and get attention from him. It made Stiles' heart clench at the sight of the beautiful German Shepherd twist and turn so he could pet every part of her, licking and whining under his hands. Stiles couldn't help but chuckle in happiness. Stiles looked up in time to see Deaton and his dad shake hands and him greet Lydia with a smile and a nod. 

Yeah Stiles missed a lot alright. He needed the story about what happened on this side. Of course he dreaded when his dad would ask about him.

Thankfully his dad perked up and asked, "Who's hungry. Pizza anyone?"

Everyone nodded. Stiles nearly wanted to object at the unhealthy food, but his stomach gurgled at the thought and he said nothing. He figured it had been a stressful week so why not indulge. Especially when it came to himself. Of Deaton wanted to excuse himself, but his dad said no. Something about the way they interacted with each other made Stiles look at them curiously. It made him wonder. It was like they hadn't met each other a week ago. Or at least hadn't started to really interact with one another a week ago. 

His dad ordered the pizza and within twenty minutes they all gathered around the table to eat. Talking about nothing and everything. No one brought up the past week. Stiles saw that as a blessing. It was a nice reprieve from the stress that was building in his gut. He would rather spend time with his dad and Danny and Lydia first, time as just a kid, before diving into what his life has really become. So they talked about school starting again in less than a month, reminding Stiles about the time he lost, about how Lydia's mom is doing and that she got a position at the school for next year, Danny and his grandmother, Deaton and the clinic and anything fun and interesting going on around town.

If there was a shadow outside the window near the front of the house for a moment, no one had seen it.

When Stiles excused himself to go use the bathroom, carefully stepping over Luna who laid at his chair, not wanting to leave his side for most of the evening, he meant to make it quick. After relieving himself and washing his hands, he temporarily forgot when he looked in the mirror. He forgot about what he would see, what would inevitably be there. His breath hitched in his throat as his eyes lingered on his reflection.

He barely recognized himself. He was pale, paler than usual, his eyes sunken in and with shadows under his own eyes, like faint bruises. He seemed thinner, not by much, but enough for him to notice the change in his body since he knew his body well. His hair was longer, now enough to run his fingers through and grasp. But above all, it was the scars. Thin pinkish-white lines marked his body. The ones' on his arms were smaller than all others, except for the one that went from his shoulder down to the inside crease of his elbow. The rest were like scratches that would never leave. He noticed the one on his neck, that was below his right ear down to below the collar of his shirt. Hitching up the fabric he saw the devastation that was his torso. More scars across his sides and over his chest. The one from his neck went past his collar bone and crossed over the one that Grant left in the woods, the one that went from his tip of his collar bone to over his nipple. His back was the same. More white lines speckling his pale skin. Some minor cuts like his arms, other's were longer, especially the one that went from side to side, long and deep. He remembered every single one. Every cut singed into his brain as he stared at them.

When he looked back up at his eyes, they were still whiskey brown, but with flecks of gold in them that weren't there before. They no longer swam like melted chocolate, but now looked hard like topaz crystal. It was unnerving, but no less true. He even saw the scars on the top of his thighs and few on his calves. With each piece of skin he saw, his eyes seemed to grow brighter and harder. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket that he took it out to see a text from Scott.

**Scott: Hey bro. Can we talk?**

Those were the words that set him off. He immediately broke, his eyes flooding with tears that were unexpected as they were bound to happen. He wasn't crying because of Scott or about what happened between them, he was crying for himself.

He didn't recognize himself anymore. The boy in the mirror wasn't someone he recalled. The scars, the fading bruises, the shadowed eyes, and the hard, bright gaze. It was like looking at a double that was not him, but a rip off. Yet was it? Look at the things he had done. Look at what he has been put through. The doe eyed, hyperactive boy was not the one looking at him in the mirror. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see that guy anymore. His tears ran down his face in small rivers, dropping to the floor. His breaths came quickly and he clutched his gut as his magic burned inside him as if trying to offer comfort. He cried for himself. He cried for what he lost and what he endured. He cried because he feared he was no longer who he once was.

 

*** * * * * * ***

Stiles was in the living room with Danny, he was on his laptop looking up satellite images of Beacon Hills and maps of the area. He wanted to go out and find that tree. The Nemeton was a constant image in his mind right now. Now that he knew the significance of it he couldn’t shake it. He felt like he wanted to go run in the Preserve to find it yet he couldn’t really tell why. Stiles wasn't really sure what he would do when he did find the Nemeton, but he hoped, that this 'conscious magical' tree would be able to help him.

He was doing everything he could to not think about the fact he lost over a week. That his 'nightmare' wasn't a nightmare as he wished it was. To think he could astral project was crazy and that was something he was going to speak to Deaton on. After the first time, after that first bruise he got on his shoulder, he knew that this was something. He just didn't know what. Now that he did, he worried about it. He didn't want to accidentally go back to the Astral realm. He had already texted Deaton earlier that night, giving him a private message, telling him that wanted to know of a way to prevent it from happening again. Deaton said he would look into and said that he had been working on that for him anyway. He said he would get to him soon.

Until then, Deaton ordered him on bed rest. Told his dad that he need to build back up his strength. He need to sleep, despite being unconscious for over a week and he needed to consume nutrients to help rebuild his energy. That was something Stiles could get behind. He felt starved. He ate a whole box of pepperoni pizza on his own!

It didn't make him feel better. Mostly because it had already happened. After he peeled himself off the floor of the bathroom after fifteen minute cry, the soft taps of his dad knocking on the door asking if he was okay, he shook himself out of it and put on a face. Something he was getting very good at. He had to keep it together.

Stiles tried to shake the thoughts away, pushing them down. He knew that Danny and his dad wanted explanations, but he wasn't ready for that. Despite what he thinks his dad knows, the man did not know the full truth. The truth about what happened to him, on the Astral plane or before the beginning of summer. At least he hoped not. Thankfully no one pressed, at least not yet.

He was searching his laptop, sitting on the couch while Danny was reading the books on the floor, at least the ones in English and Spanish. Stiles hid a small smile each time Danny pulled out his phone, looking up a word or phrase in Spanish Danny didn't recognize. He wanted to tell Danny that he would help with the books later, but he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity for help. Lydia and Deaton had left a little after dinner, wanting to let Stiles rest and saying they would stop by again another day. Lydia saying she might stop by tomorrow. After the swell of voices and conversation, it was a little jarring at the silence going on. Even with his dad in his office, Stiles barely heard anything, but the turning of pages and the clicking of his keyboard. Even Luna's soft breathing at his feet was so quiet to him. He could only imagine how Danny and his dad felt after their week.

Speaking of which, his dad came in, holding a rather large bag with a strap over his shoulder. A grim look on his face.

Stiles sat up straighter immediately, bracing for his dad to say that he was leaving or heading to work. But the man wasn't wearing his uniform, so he was at a loss of why his dad had that look. 

Before he could ask his dad spoke, "Danny can you give us a few minutes."

The boy nodded, giving Stiles a small smile before heading out of the room and upstairs, coaxing Luna along with him, her tail wagging playfully as she went. When they were alone, Stiles looked at his dad evenly, keeping himself still even though he was itching to ask what was wrong. His dad looked exhausted. Bags and shadows under his eyes, weathered looking and wary like he thought Stiles was about to disappear in front of him. He seemed a little twitchy like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, one gripping the strap of the bag and the other at his side, his fingers rubbing at each other in a nervous gesture.

Stiles looked closer seeing the uncertainty in blue eyes he knew well. His dad looked...afraid. Maybe no wide eyes or panicked breathing, but Stiles had no doubt if he gave his old man a hug, he would hear his heart beating rapidly. The worry lines prominent on his forehead. Somehow, Stiles was calm under all of this. Maybe it was because he knew he had nothing to be edgy about or maybe because he suspected where this was going. 

"Stiles," his dad began, swallow hard. "There’s something-some things that I need to tell you."

Yup, Stiles knew exactly what was coming. He had tried to convince himself of it all being a dream, but he was foolish to think that would be the case. He knew the truth. If the conversing between Deaton and his dad was evidence enough at dinner, then he didn't know what was. He could see how hard it was for his dad to say the words. The man awkwardly came into the room more, sitting the bag down on the floor next to his recliner, sitting down on the edge of the seat, looking like he wasn't sure how to begin. Stiles decided to save his dad from the pressure that he looked to be under. 

"I heard what you said, dad." He began gently, after taking a quick deep breath. He couldn't see his dad look like that, so crumbled by the weight of his next words. He pretended to not see his dad's look of shock and confusion. "About mom," he clarified.

That seemed to be the moment something broke. His dad went stock still, his eyes starting to glisten with each passing moment that went in silence. They stared at each other as the seconds ticked by, turning to minutes. Neither moving.

"I’m so sorry Stiles," his dad said, voice cracking over those few words.

"No dad let me talk please," he said quickly. He knew that if he let his dad talk first, he wouldn't have the strength to say what he needed to. He wouldn't be able to say it all without the floodgates opening. He thought it was all a dream before, now he was sure. And he didn't quite know how to really feel about it. So he did what he did best...he talked.

"I don’t blame you. I don’t blame anyone. Not you, not her. Sure I wish I had known, but I understand why you kept it from me. I know losing mom was hard and I know you didn’t want to lose me too if I had gotten involved in all of this. The uncertainty, the constant danger that we can't see, I get it. I really do. I never imagined that this-any of this-would happen." He indicated more to himself and the books around them as he spoke. "I just wanted to keep you safe."

"Stiles," his dad interjected, holding up a hand to stop his son. "You are the child and I am the parent. I am the one who is supposed to protect you. That is _my_ job. If I had gotten over my fear, if I had told you everything-"

Stiles went over his dad's words with his own, trying to hold back the tears threatening the back of his eyes. He could feel them creeping up, making his eyes warm and heavy. "I didn’t ask for this. Any of it, but I also didn't run from it when I probably should have. I've just been taking it in stride. I didn’t want you to worry and I know how hard your job is. I just didn’t want my involvement to lead back to you. I thought if I could keep you away from this, that you wouldn’t have to learn about all this. That you wouldn't be in danger. I made that call because _I had_ the power."

"Son-"

"I just didn't want you to get hurt because of all of this, because I didn't do enough. I thought...I thought..if I had done that then maybe I could make up for mom."

He was trying so hard to keep the tears back then. His throat was closing up. He could feel the water in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. 

His dad looked at him for a few silent moment, his eyes wide with disbelief. Before the man got up and came over to sit on the thick maple coffee table in front of Stiles. He positioned himself in Stile's view, dead center. "Don't you dare," he said with a hard tone that surprised Stiles. "Don’t you ever think you failed her. What happened to your mother was something no one could have helped. There are some things that cannot be helped."

"But ma-magic-"

His dad shook his head, closing his hands around his son's in a tight, warm grip. "Magic can only do so much. Believe me, son, we tried. _She_ tried. There was no spell that could reverse the effects. Perhaps slow it down but the mind is it’s own kind of power. There were too many variables that were unaccounted for and your mom did not want to spend the rest of her life, the rest of her time with you, trying to find a hopeless cure.”

"I tried to help," Stiles whispered, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Not many people knew how much he tried. He researched even then, doing all he could to find a cure for his mom's sickness. Going to every doctor's visit, every exercise to help sustain her memory, every CAT scan. He would have his mom take him to the library, looking up all manner of books to try and find anything to help. Researched online for articles or treatments. He spent the better part of two years as his mom's memory slowly dwindled away into nothing, looking for any hope. His mom would often smile and listen to his findings, telling him he did good or that she would check with the doctors. He remembered his dad giving him encouraging pats on the back, firm hugs at the progress he made, just for all of it to prove of no worth.

In the end nothing helped. Stiles never knew his research was being countered by his mother's. Looking not for a scientific cure, but a magical one. Even then, there was nothing.

"I know you did," his dad said softly. "She was proud of you for that. She knew you would stop at nothing to find answers. Which is why she helped you. She stayed with you while you studied and read everything you could. Learned everything with a vigor that brightened your eyes with each new information, wanting to share it with her."

"All to no avail," Stiles muttered, feeling the first tear slide from his eyes.

Noah shook his head. "No. You gave her something better than a useless cure."

Stiles tried to hide the shake of his bottom lip as he looked at his dad. He believed then that those weren't useless cures. He believed then that they would work. Who was he kidding? "What," he asked, not really wanting to know the answer, but asking anyway.

"A glimpse of the very man she knew you would grow to become. The young man that I can attest to. The one I see everyday with her smile and her eyes."

Stiles was gripping his dad's hand back so tightly he thought it was painful for the man, but he didn't seem to mind. He looked at his dad's calm and assuring face, the man's own eyes glistening with tears. He didn't resist when his dad pulled him into a tight hug, both of them leaning into each other across the small space between them. Noah wrapped his arms around his son tightly as Stiles clutched onto the side of his dad's shirt. Stiles didn't bother to stop the tears then as he ducked his head into his dad's shoulder. He knew it was bound to happen anyway. Ever since the dream, he thought it was too good to be true. That his dad knew all along and that his mom did too. He felt a weight off of his shoulders almost instantly, as warmth settled in his gut as he allowed himself to hold onto his dad. The heavy tears falling from his cheeks freely. He didn't care that Danny was there. He was relieved that he no longer had to hide from the one person in his life that meant the most to him. 

So he cried in pain-staking, fluttering relief that left him sated in a way that he didn't know he needed. While his dad held him tightly, rubbing soothing circles in the middle of his shoulder blades, saying nothing, but being the strong rock his dad always was. If Stiles felt wetness on his head and the side of his neck, he never mentioned it.

After a good while, they broke apart, Noah clapping him on the shoulder with a wry smile as Stiles sniffled.

"I am proud of you son," he said gently. "And I have no doubt she would be too."

Stiles fought off another wave of tears as he smiled at his dad. "I guess that means that I am off the hook for lying all this time."

"Good try," his dad said with a glint in his eyes. "But I'm trying to think of how long I should ground you."

"What," he said flailing his arms. "That is so unfair. You're the pot and I'm the kettle here."

His dad chuckled. "Be that as it may, I think you have punished me enough by making me eat turkey bacon and tofu stir fry."

"This is what I get for caring," Stiles said with mock hurt. 

"This is what you get for _me_ caring," Noah said getting up from the table, cracking his neck as he moved.

Stiles glared at his old man although it lacked any heat. He pointed a finger at him. "That's a double standard there. Don't make me take away the Dove ice-cream bars and Drumsticks. Not to mention your stash of candy bars in your office."

"Come on," Noah said with a huff. "I am still the parent here."

"And as my parent," Stiles went on, sitting back on the couch with a smirk, "I expect you to live a healthy life until I reach at least upper middle-age although I am sure I can stretch that if I get rid of the candy bars. Oh and did I mention the popcorn in the closet?"

Noah rubbed a hand down his face as he sunk into his recliner, leaning back and slipping deep into the seat like he was sulking. "You are a menace."

Stiles smiled smugly. "But you love me anyway."

"Yeah, yeah," his dad said after a groan.

After a few moments of silence, his dad sighed heavily, looking at his son with worry and sadness. Stiles didn't know what brought that on, but he waited nonetheless for his dad to speak his thoughts. It took a bit for him to speak. Stiles could practically see the gears in his dad's head turn as he thought of the right words to use. The black bag was still at his feet, but Stiles forced himself to meet his dad's troubled gaze.

"Son, about the Astral plane, about what happened..."

Stiles stiffened at that. No, it was too soon. He just woke up a few hours ago. He didn't want to think about what he did and what to say to his dad. He didn't want to think about any of it right now. What he wanted was just to be with his dad and Danny and forget even if it was temporarily.

"Dad, please don't," he begged, hearing the hitch in his own voice. He tried not to wince at that. "I'm...not ready to go into that right now. I know you want answers, I do. But I...can't talk about it right now."

"But I just think-"

"No," he said a little forceful. "I am asking you to let me have my space on this. At least for now, please."

His dad looked like he wanted to argue. He looked like he was nearly ready to march him straight up to his room, lock them in there until Stiles fessed up. Stiles understood where he was coming from. The unknown of what happened, the fear of what he went through, that fact that he was not there to help him, Stiles knew all of those pushed his dad's drive ask and push. But Stiles was not going to act like a victim in this. Yes he needed time, but he was not going to give the facts until he could uncover how it all happened and what he could do to prevent it from happening again. He needed time to sort out his thoughts and think over what he wanted to say. He knew how his dad could be and despite his dad knowing about the supernatural, Stiles knew that his dad could only handle so much. The last thing he wanted was his dad to collapse from a heart attack because of what Stiles went through.

Stiles looked at the black bag at his dad's feet. He wondered what was in it, considering it was a kind of big. Apparently he was eyeing it a little too curiously because his dad straightened up, moving to pick it up to place it in front of his legs. Noah had that uncertain look on his face again, but he didn't seem tense this time.

"I have something for you." He said slowly. He pulled out a fairly big rectangle, wrapped in an old linen that Stiles was not sure what it was. There was nothing remarkable about the cloth, but it looked like it made of somewhat fuzzy material like towels were made of. He came forward with the object balanced out flat in his hands. 

He put it on Stiles lap. It was heavier than he thought it was. With slightly unsure fingers, he uncover the object from it's cloth protection. Stiles was right to assume it was a towel protecting it. It was old and smelled like it had been in a closet for a very long time, but it was still soft. Unwrapping the fabric revealed a book. Easily the size of an encyclopedia or at least close to it. It had a simple black leather cover and and back, with a slightly glossy finish. The leather was textured under his fingers, like a reptile scales. He could see the texture if he looked closer, like little circles dotting the surface over and over again. 

Stiles had no idea what this was as he picked the book up and turned it left and right, examining the outside of it. He placed it back on his lap, moving to open the book and looking at his dad with an inquisitive look.

"What is-," he didn't finish.

When he looked back down he stopped mid sentence as his brain caught up to what his eyes were seeing. The pages had writing in them, in bold black ink, some with detailed pictures, others with print outs of drawings of hieroglyphs and illustrations taken from what looked like ancient texts, taped to other pages with captions and then more detailed information on the next page with them. It was a book of his supernatural dreams. It had so much he had not seen before or read. He doubted that it had everything he could ever know, but that didn't matter to him. This was from his mom. This was everything she had written down for him. It was now the most cherished possession he ever had next to pictures of her.

"It was your mom's," Noah said softly. "She made this for you, knowing that you would one day need it."

Stiles flipped through some of the pages, barely wanting to touch the pages in a ridiculous fear of the pages breaking apart or turning to dust in his palms. "When did she-"

"Every night, when you were in bed," his dad was with a small smile. "She worked on it when you were asleep adding as much as she could. Sometimes during the day when you were at school too."

He felt a new set of fresh tears spring to his eyes. Flipping through the pages he came across a page that seemed marked. Or rather it had something stuck between the pages. It was an envelope. Simple white envelope, that felt a little thicker with paper stuffed inside. Turning it around Stiles saw his name on the front of it, written in his mother's elegant hand. He might have stopped breathing then as his eyes went wide.

He didn't imagine a letter being left by his mother. There were days when he wished he could hear her voice again. Where he could feel her or have her speak to him in some fashion. This letter was a way of that happening, albeit not in the way he wished most, but more than he had since she died. Now that he had the letter in his hands, he couldn't open it. He was frozen in place.

"That was also from her," his dad confirmed. "I don't know what it says, she made me promise to never read. I never have."

Stiles nodded numbly. He didn't know what to do. Should he read it? Should he read to his dad too? Should he read it in the privacy of his room and then burn it afterwards? What should he do? He was stock still on the couch, his dad looking at him with a mixture of concern and expectation. His dad wanted him to read it, that was for sure, but he didn't have the strength to make his fingers move. He didn't have the courage to read the last words his mother ever wrote.

"You don't have to read it now," his dad said gently, sensing his hesitation. "It's okay to take your time."

With that his dad, got up and left to go back into the kitchen to pull out a bowl of ice cream. Leaving him alone clutching onto a letter that could say a multitude of things, none of which he was really ready to read. He itched to open it, but then wanted to stuff it back in the book and pretend he never saw it. He desperately wanted to have answer on what to do. But it was clear as he looked at his dad, the man avoiding his gaze as he put scoops of chocolate ice cream in a bowl, that he wasn't going to provide any help. This was up to Stiles.

Without much thought, he put the letter in the back of the book, stuffing it into the crease of the back cover and the last page and closing the Grimoire, saving it for when he felt like he was ready to read it.

 

*** * * * * * ***

Three days later Stiles spent it trying to get back to his normal routine. Or at least the somewhat normal one. He texted Chris the night before telling him that he wanted to meet tomorrow morning in the Preserve. Chris replied back a few moments later with a simple okay. But then asked about why he had not reach out for training in over a week. Stiles didn't really know what to say without it sounding suspicious or leading Chris to uncover his secret so he simply said that he had been feeling under the weather a bit and his dad was getting a little suspicious that he was leaving pretty early in the mornings. Which was a lie, his dad still didn't know. Chris seemed to take it fine, but without seeing the man's face, Stiles couldn't be sure.

In all honesty he was taking that time to heal himself. After seeing the devastation of his body, he took the three days to help himself. He didn't want Chris to suspect something and either tell the Pack or get worried, which the latter was not as likely as the other. Stiles needed to make sure that he was rested enough. Deaton gave him sleeping potions to help replenish his energy that kept him under for eight hours only, which he used at night only. During the day he researched for the Nemeton and ate, a lot. Mostly it was snack and junk food, but he didn't care. A few times a day, he would call to his magic gently, knowing it was still fairly weak to help heal him just a little. It wouldn't do anything for the number of scars on his body, but it would help replenish his body of the energy and nutrients he lost while his magic was slowly draining him in order to keep him alive while his unconsciousness was away.

So he drove out to the Preserve in the very early morning, having avoided sleeping all night, partially because he didn't feel like he needed it and also because of his fear of returning to the Astral plane on accident. He wanted to avoid doing that again without his consent. He had no idea how he was able to do that and Deaton had speculations, but now that the former Emissary knew that he was a mage, he expanded his search even more to try and find a way to help Stiles prevent it from happening again. So Stiles studied his mother's book, nearly tearing up a few times when he read little tips and thoughts his mom wrote to the side of a few pages on certain creatures or spells.

He spent the night before reading through the pages, almost reverently, going over each sentence slowly so that he could commit it to memory as best he could. This was his mother's book, she wrote it for him while her memory remained. He had spent a full hour, with the book balanced on his lap, looking at the envelope with his name on it, trying to get up the courage to read it. Each time he tried, his fingers would tremble and his throat would close up. Ultimately he had sat the letter to the side in favor of reading the contents of the homemade Grimoire his mother took the time and energy to make for him before she passed. He still hadn't read her letter and he doubted he would be able to in the near future.

There was so much material. Spells and rituals, to herbs and plants, to creatures and monsters that Stiles had yet to ever see. Some of which he hoped he would never come across and he prayed his mother never did, just heard or saw from afar and that was it. All of these things were evidence of her life, everything she had uncovered little by little and he was in total awe and gratitude for it. There were things written in that he had not read in the books Deaton gave him, things he had not learned yet. By the time he deemed it okay to get up and head out to meet Chris, he was just barely halfway through the book.

He quickly dressed and brushed his teeth, pocketing his phone, just before dawn had peaked over the horizon. Meeting Chris at their 'reserved' spot in the Preserve, they quickly got back into his training routine, fit with cardio, strength training, and sparring techniques. Chris had no once brought up his sudden disappearance for a week and Stiles was grateful for it. He didn't want to deal with any of that right now. He wanted an outlet to his emotions and his thoughts. He wanted a distraction and training was helping with that.

Chris taught him a few other sparring techniques, mixing it with his boxing. It took Stiles barely two tries before he executed them perfectly and Chris was surprised how quick Stiles retained them. Chris commented on his speed and reaction time, telling him he had really improved since they last met up. Stiles tried to hide his scowl at that.

It wasn't that he didn't feel pride or happy about his improvements, it was how he came to improve so quickly. It wasn't his magic, it was what he learned on the Astral plane. It was what he endured for what felt like endless hour there and what was actually a week here.

He wasn't using his magic during the whole time, not once. He could feel it under his skin, but he never allowed it to push him to do more. He didn't need to, not with this. He tried to not feel bitter or sad at the turn of his thoughts. His time in the Astral realm has taken it's toll on him, body and mind. He had already seen what it did to his body. His magic was still strengthening anyway and while he did feel better and less groggy or exhausted, he was still a day or so away from feeling like his usual self.

If he was being honest, he barely noticed how much he had improved when he blocked and countered Chris' advances. They had moved on to weaponry wielding some time ago. Stiles favored the knives while Chris had a knack for firearms more. But it didn't mean the man wasn't proficient in long array of weapons he seemed to have. When he noticed how well adjusted Stiles became at blades, he decided to use it more in their sessions.

He was getting better with each week, learning too step and carry the blade like an extension of himself rather than just a weapon. He recalled when he was still unsure of himself. Even a week ago he was hesitant. Often overthinking his steps and his next movements into another. Chris often scolded him on saying to stop thinking so much, to not treat it so shyly. If he was to wield the blade, then he had to actually be present in the here and now, with said blade. Now it was different.

Stiles was far too familiar with the cold steel of the daggers, knives, and short swords he used. He swung and twisted them in a confident way he didn't have before. It was something he didn't take much notice in until later, after he came close to swiping the blade across Chris' chest, narrowly pulling back in time so as to not harm him, merely cutting the fabric of the older man's shirt. When Chris noticed his eyes went wide, a glimmer of surprise and strangely what looked like pride.

"I'm done for the day," Stiles said quickly, turning to wipe his forehead with his arm, going over to the Chris' trunk to put the dual knives he had inside.

Chris seemed to hum behind him. "You were doing so well."

"Too much of a good thing and all that," Stiles said nonchalantly, trying to quell down the thoughts of if his blade got just a little closer. He swallowed hard, ignoring the slightly faster beating of his heart. Something else he has come to notice that changed. He no longer felt the nervous pattering his heart made at these exercises. Having had enough to squash those nerves. "We both know I am clumsy," he said as a distraction. "I say we quit while I'm ahead before I do something that is dangerous like poke my own eye out."

Chris huffed as he moved beside him, untangling the bindings on his hands to help with his grip. He put his own blade in the trunk. "You have improved, rather exponentially, I might add."

Stiles tried not to fidget under the man's scrutiny. "Probably just a good day. Or maybe you are getting slower, old man," he said with a smirk.

Chris chuckled beside him. "Careful, Mr. Stiliniski. I may be slower, but it is not always speed that wins the upper hand."

Stiles knew that that was true. There were many things that could win one the upper hand, but he was not going to voice his opinion on those. He was afraid of what Chris would say if he knew the truth about Stiles. The man was a hunter for heaven's sake. He has hunted supernatural creatures for years. He may have a code, but Stiles was not completely sure what contents went into that code. Stiles was not a werewolf nor was he a were of any kind. He was a mage.

He was still learning what all that meant, but he was not sure how others, like hunters would see it. If Deaton's words were to be heeded, then it meant that his magic is like a shiny treasure to others in the supernatural community. It meant he was a target. One others will come for.

"True," he allowed, wiping off his forehead again, looking up at the sky. It was late morning now, nearing noon based on the position the sun was in the sky. There were some grey clouds in covering up the blue of the heavens above, but it didn't worry Stiles. He took deep breaths of the air around them, smelling the Preserve. The smell of trees, dirt, fresh air mixed with the other natural scents. "Anyway, I'm going to go. I'm going to meet a friend in town."

Chris nodded in understanding. "You did well," he said. 

Stiles smiled rather shyly before nodding. "Thanks." Stiles was about to turn away to head back to his jeep a little bit away, but stopped himself, needing to say something else. "And thanks," he said looking at Chris beside him. "Thank you for teaching me all of this. I know I sort of guilt tripped you into doing this, but I am grateful. I know I am not easy to handle."

"You're welcome," Chris said evenly, giving Stiles nod. 

Stiles took that as his moment to leave, letting himself roll his shoulders loose before they locked up from the exercise. He headed to his jeep, just barely reaching for the door when Chris spoke again already having got into his truck, the driver side door still open. "Do not think of yourself as a burden Mr. Stilinski. I may not have trained anybody, but Allison, but I have found this a rather... _enchanting_ experience myself."

Stiles felt his eyes go wide just as Chris gave small wave as he close his door and started up his truck to drive away. Stiles stood frozen for a few moments even as Chris left, kicking up a little dust as he went. He couldn't move, he barely breathed as his heart jumped a few beats. He replayed the hunter's words in his mind.

Was that a tell? Did Chris know? He couldn't know. Stiles has been so careful. At least that is what he thought he has been. Except for that one time where he set the punching bag on fire, but that was once.

Either way Stiles had to be even more careful. Chris may not hurt him, but he was not sure about that. His magic was swirling inside him, providing some comfort at his struggle to understand. He was happy to have that, but there were times, where he wished his magic told him what to do. He wished it would give him advice and tell him what he could not see. It would be of serious help when he needed it. He already cherished his magic, even though he hasn't had it for very long, now he couldn't imagine the rest of his life without it.

He wondered if his mom felt the same way. Or if Danny does too. He needs to talk to Danny about a few things. There was more that he heard while he was still unable to fully regain his consciousness, but he did hear enough. He needed to sit Danny down and talk over a few things. He had no doubt Danny needed to say a few things, and frankly so did Stiles.

Leaning against his jeep, he contemplated on what to say to his friend, but he didn't get far when he felt a release in his mind. Like something just broke. He reached with his magic to feel his wards, knowing that was what he felt. Something has broken from his wards. Judging from the force of it, it was fast, but not very big. And it was to the east a few miles away.

Stiles wanted to take his jeep and head out and down the road to get closer to where the breach was, but he didn't. He felt a tugging in his chest. His magic seemed to curl around itself before leaping against the inside of his ribs and chest. It wasn't painful, but it felt like a nudge. It was nudging him forward. This only happened once before and that was the first time he entered the Astral plane. He may have thought it was a dream the first time, but he remembered. It was the same feeling, the same urge. His magic was coaxing him to following it's lead. Before it lead him to the Nemeton in the Astral realm. Was it doing the same this time?

He could tell it was urging him to go in the direction the breach was in, but could it be that the Nemeton was that way. So far he hadn't found any maps or leads on where the ancient tree could be, but he was hoping to find it. Was today the day? Hesitating for a moment more, he pocketed his keys and phone, before running off, his magic being his guide.

Wherever he was going, he hoped it held answers. 

 

*** * * * * * ***

Stiles ran through the brush, his magic acting as his guide. The closer he got, the more his magic seemed to get restless, fanning through him like a heated swarm of butterflies, radiating around his chest, dipping low into his gut and then back up again. The longer he ran, the more the sun became shaded over by thickening gray clouds. Stiles wasn't sure it was supposed to rain, but at this point he didn't care. He had to focus and his magic was urging him to keep going. He was almost there.

In his mind, he felt himself getting closer to where the breach came through his wards. His wards were back up as if it never happened. But there was an echo of it, like a lingering tingle in the back of his brain from where his wards snapped apart and then mended themselves back together. With each step, he coudl feel it get stronger in his head. Eventually he started hearing things. It saw a little thumping and thudding. Then he heard a roar. It wasn't loud, but more like a warning. It was followed by something like a screech mixed with a cry. Turning his head this and that, he did't see anything as he ran through the trees, bounding over the obstacles in his way. He used his magic to push himself faster, sending it into his legs to give him a boost.

Maybe he was close to the threat. It sounded like two of them. Two threats that came through. He supposed that should worry him, but he didn't feel worried. He didn't even feel determined. If anything he felt indifferent, yet curious to know what came through.

In the distance he saw a little bit of light come through the denser trees. There were shapes and shadows passing every so often, but he couldn't make them out. Bursting through the trees he found himself in a small clearing. There was nothing special about it just that it an opening in the Preserve, one of a few. He knew that from the maps he had been glancing at over the past few days. Although he wasn't sure which one he was in. Looking around the area was nothing but weeds and tall, thin grass with some wild flowers and weeds poking through. 

Nothing out of the ordinary, well if you didn't count the black winged monster flying around in a circled and a werewolf snapping and snarling at it, tensely waiting for it to make it's move.

As Stiles looked closer, he realized the werewolf was Isaac, he had a little blood on the side on his face and shirt and pants had a few tears in them with a bit of blood staining them. As the creature lunged at Isaac he swiped his claws at it, catching at it's weeks and torso, a harsh growl ripping from his transformed face. The winged monster was something Stiles had never seen before, or expected. It had dark skin, almost melted dark chocolate in color. It had a thin body reminiscent of a woman's. It's arms were it's wings, large and black with tough looking feathers that seemed to have an eerie gleam to them. The feet were in the not human, but like the talons of a bird, long and sharp black nails, curved to a point. Feather dotted the creature from it's arms up it's neck, down it's torso and sides. What Stiles supposed would be the belly and legs were uncovered and color of the skin of the humanoid face. The monster had no hair and it's head was somewhat pointed on the crown and it's face was rounded, similar to a baby's, but with no nose, only slits like a snake. All of it's teeth were sharp looking, but not as long as Isaac's were. It's eyes were a bright green, clouded with animalistic anger.

Stiles couldn't tell what the winged-creature was, but he vaguely thought he had seen something similar to it before. As he watched, Isaac swiped his claws against the monster's skin, opening up wounds that bled. At least the blood was red from what Stiles could see. The creature kicked out at him, sending him off balance, it's talons scratching down his front, leaving claw mark in his skin. Stiles saw Isaac's face contort in pain as he fell back. Before Isaac could gain his balance, Stiles saw the monster twist in the air, curling it's wings around itself before lunging it's left wing forward, throwing what looked like three knives through the air. The black daggers hit Isaac in the chest, digging in. He roared in pain before thumping to his knees.

It was like the world slowed down and time went to a crawl as Stiles watched Isaac pluck the knives-no they were feathers-from his chest. It looked painful and his face creased with hurt as he growled in pain. He tried to get up, but he couldn't seem to get his legs under him. Within seconds, Isaac went slack and fell back in a heap. The winged-lady circled him, flying up into the air, screeching as she went.

Stiles didn't think, he didn't have time to. Moving quickly, it was like his body was moving of it's own accord. He raised up hands, feeling his magic thrum within him as he called to it. He didn't care about potential consequences like Isaac seeing him. He moved with out a thought because all he saw was the winged-creature coming back around aiming straight for Isaac. The boy was knocked out cold, at least that is what Stiles was hoping for. He feared thinking about anything worse. As the creature came close enough, Stiles muttered a spell, waving his hand out towards Isaac.

The winged-creature seemed to hit an invisible barrier close to Isaac's body, throwing itself backwards at a tremendous force. It fell to the ground, and Stiles thought he heard a loud crack of something breaking. Still running, Stiles made his way to the boy's still form.

Falling to his knees, he check Isaac's pulse feeling it thump under the skin of his neck into Stiles' fingers. He took a second to let out a sigh of relief before he turned to see the creature lunging for him. He nearly avoided the sharp talon on it's feet scraping against his face, but he wasn't so lucky with his thigh and side as he fell backwards in an attempt to get away.

He hissed in pain as they scratched his skin open. The creature was flapping it's wings, trying to hover back into the air over him. Avoiding the kicking of it's talons, Stiles rolled over, throwing out his magic in another spell. This one a like a shock wave, sending the creature back a few feet. Stiles crawled over to Isaac, contemplating on waking him up so he could help. He would come up with an excuse later, but he didn't have time.

The resounding squawk and screech of his foe came behind him. Flapping it's black wings and it's sharp teeth gleaming even in the cloudy day. Waving up his hands, he put back up the barrier, separating him and Isaac from the monster. It recoiled back from the force from hitting the magical barrier, but it pressed on in the next second. Scratching it's talons on the shield, headbutting and kicking out in an attempt to get to it's prey. It's winged arms were flapping furiously as it screeched and cawed at them. Sending itself back with a kick, it threw it's right wing forward, sending two sharp feather at them, barb first. Stiles watched as they hit his barrier and fell to the ground harmless. He could see the that they were wet, glistening with something that he couldn't guess. The black fuzz, gleaming under the light of the cloudy day. It was poison, that much was clear. Stiles was counting his hopes and praying that it was not fatal to werewolves. He had to hurry and get Isaac to safety.

He didn't have a choice but to drop his barrier. But he didn't do that before grasping a hand to the curved dagger he brought with him from home. The one he took from Kyram. If there was a time to put it to use, it was now. Dropping the veil that separated him from the monster, he dodged out of the way as it aimed it's talons at his face, flying past him as he moved. He turned, gathering his magic in his hand.

A ball of fire sat in the palm of his hand, a spell he learned a little while ago, although he guess he had done fire magic before he learned an actual spell for it. When the creature turned back towards him, he threw the ball of fire at it. It moved out of the way, snarling and crying out at him. He did it again. Throwing another one, this time aiming for it's head. It flapped to the right, it's black and brown body a contrast in the cloudy sky. He had a plan, he just needed the creature closer to the ground.

It came at him then, swooping in low, aiming to kill or maim him, it's teeth and claws at the ready. Lunging to the side, he quickly turned to aim his magic at the ground, calling upon what lies beneath. His hand temporarily glowed a luminescent green, before thick vines shot from the ground, tangling into the winged-lady as she flew right into the them. He watched as they wrapped around her legs first, pulling her closer to the ground. Tightening around her torso and one shooting between her feathers to hold onto one of her wings. Stiles watched as she attempted to fly out of them, kicking and raking her talons out jaggedly. Screeching and squawking as she tried. Her green eyes amassed with rage and terror at once. 

Stiles took that as his chance, using it as the only opportunity. She was close enough to the ground that he could reach her. Quickly, he ran over, sliding out of the way of her whipping talons, pulling the dagger free to swiped across her middle, spilling her blood easily and then twisting away as she aimed her teeth at him with a piercing cry, and arching his arm out, turning the blade to point towards her, cutting into her neck down into her pointed collarbone.

Stiles watched as she went stock still, ceasing her attempts to get free, her green predator eyes, going wide and then blank. She fell to the ground still intertwined with the vines, blood running out of her likes a small river, staining the ground below. He stared at the limp form for a moment, waiting to see if she was in fact dead before, wiping the blood off on the knife on the ground and putting it back in the sheathe strapped to the small of his back under his shirt.

He turned to see Isaac still on the ground. It made him wonder. He saw the feathers still lying on the ground and he was tempted to take them to Deaton, take them to help him identify what that monster was.

For a moment, he thought about leaving Isaac to come to on his own. For a moment, he thought about making his presence invisible. Like he was never there. But then, would he be able to live with that choice? Would Isaac be okay? Should he get involved, despite the pack not wanting anything to do with him? Should he risk anyone finding out what he is? 

As bad as it was, Stiles didn't know what to choose in that moment.

 


	15. A Glamoured Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! Another chapter because I love all of you. It is shorter than usual, but I thought it was a good idea to give this chapter a singular purpose. This is the start of bringing everyone back together again and fueling the fires of emotional turmoil and angst. Ain't it Great!! Lol Already started on the next chapter and it will be longer. Thank you all for your comments and kudos and I hope this meets some of your wishes. Don't worry I am not done yet and you will have much more. Hope you all enjoy!

Stiles didn't know what he should do. He was torn.

As terrible as that was, it was true. In this situation, he was wasn't sure he should help. A part of him wanted to, the other part told him that he shouldn't get any more involved. This was pack business. He had no right to insert himself in it. Maybe he should leave, go get help. Stiles could do that, no problem. Isaac was unconscious, possibly dying, and Stiles couldn't help with that. His magic humming underneath his skin, like a live wire, waiting for him to release it into a current out of his body. He didn't know if he could help or not. But as he watched Isaac lie unmoving, bleeding and looking so small, he decided why was there ever a decision? Why was there ever a choice? 

He felt guilt surge through him at the thought of what he was doing. The thought of what he almost had done. Stiles wasn't a coward. He would never be a coward.

Running over to Isaac he dropped beside him. He took comfort that the blood was not pouring out of his body, but rather sluggishly. But he prayed that it was due to him starting to heal. At times like this he wished he could hear people's heartbeats like werewolves could, but he will settle for feeling for a pulse. He grabbed Isaac's wrist, feeling the thudding under the skin and watching as the steady rise and fall of his chest signaled what he needed to know. Stiles felt his breath rush out of him, forgetting that he hadn't been breathing.

He patted Isaac's cheek, trying to rouse him. When he still noticed the dark creature a few feet away, still tied to the ground, he waved his hand quickly, muttering under his breath, feeling his magic respond almost instantly. He felt it pull out of his chest, leaping into his arm and out of his hand. The ground turned soft, like mud and sand, and the winged-creature sank into the earth, leaving nothing behind. It was a spell he read in one of Deaton's books, turning the earth into minerals, altering the density and phases of them.

When he reached for Isaac again, he saw the one of the pale scars he adorned. This one on the inside of his forearm. It wasn't big, but it also wasn't small either. Going from one side to the other in a slightly tilted angle. He immediately took his arm back, feeling like he wished he wore long sleeves. There was nothing he had to cover it up, not to mention the other scars he had. He didn't bother hiding them from Chris because the man already knew about his night with Gerard. He already knew the about the damage. He may not know the extent of it, but Stiles thought he could use that to his advantage. He wasn't sure how much Chris might have seen or noticed, but he figured he would assume they were from Gerard and the hunters.

He had nothing to cover up the scars, but maybe he didn't need something physical. He had an idea, he just had never tried it before. So maybe now as good a time as any. If Isaac noticed then he would make up an excuse. Stiles concentrated, centering himself. His magic responded to his pull as he thought over what he wanted. He had a picture in mind, an clear image. As he muttered the spell under his breath, he allowed his magic to ignite in his chest, its warmth spreading out over his body, making his finger tips and toes tingle with the sensation. He felt it waft inside him and over his skin like a warm breeze, the entire time, bringing forth what he desired. After he was done, he felt his magic settle over him like a blanket, a thin invisible blanket. It was clear it worked, or something did anyway.

When he turned back to Isaac he was coming to, blinking his eyes rapidly and seeming dazed. When he seemed to realize he wasn't alone, Isaac moved quickly, reaching out with his clawed hands to grip at Stiles firmly, claws piercing his arms. Stiles barely resisted the urge to flinch, but he did expect the outcome. He probably should have planned better for that. When Isaac opened his eyes the fullest he could manage, they were glowing golden. His long fangs gleaming and brow-less forehead scrunched in anger and fear.

"Easy," Stiles said in a placating tone. "It's me, Isaac it's me. It's Stiles."

It took a moment for the werewolf to realize who he was grasping. It also took him a moment to realize what was happening. He looked around quickly, then pulled Stiles down to the ground with him, nearly climbing on top of him as he scanned the area. Stiles went but that was more out of surprise than anything else. He didn't expect this reaction to be honest. He actually expected to get pushed away and told to leave or run first. Feeling the warmth from Isaac's body above him as he was pressed into the tall, brittle grass was something that made his breath hitch in his throat. He tried to not think about Grant in that moment, shoving the memory down as far as it would go, gritting his teeth as he did.

"Where is it," Isaac said above him, with a lisp from his large fangs. "Where is that...thing? The winged-creature."

Stiles just nudged his head out from behind Isaac's elbow looking around, ignoring the urge to throw Isaac off him, to get him away from his body, he tried to be the perfect picture of innocence. "Uh...what?"

"There was a black winged-thing. It looked almost like a woman, but it wasn't," Isaac said tensely, panting.

"Oh that thing,” Stiles said, not bothering to deny what Isaac saw. It would prove useless in the end. “It flew off when I found you.”

"What are you doing here,” Isaac said not looking at him as he tried to wiggle out from under the the boy. “That thing is going to come back. I can’t protect you and fight it off.”

"I don’t need protection,” Stiles announced rather bewildered. He was a little surprised at the act. Isaac protecting him, who knew? He gritted his teeth as Isaac moved over top of him, the press of his chest near Stiles' shoulders as he tried to raise himself up, his legs on Stiles' thighs. He tried to ignore the feeling, the flash of unwanted sensations that he wanted to forget desperately. He tried to cover it up by saying, "Anyway you are not in any condition to fight it again.”

Isaac looked down at himself before he winced at the movement. Stiles couldn't tell if he was healing, if he was then it was slow. Blood was lazily flowing from the cuts on his chest from being impaled by those sharp feathers. A few still laid nearby and Stiles wasn’t itching to take one or two with him. The claw marks-or rather talon marks- on the Were's body were fairing no better. He was bleeding from his head, a line of scarlet red running down his temple, most likely from another wound hiding underneath his blonde curls. They were not as bad as they might have seemed, but it was clear they still hurt. 

Slowly Stiles tried to push Isaac off of him. Isaac seemed to go reluctantly but then he moved a little quicker Stiles might have brushed his wounded torso with his squirming. Stiles climbed up to his feet, dusting himself off, eyeing Isaac carefully. The other boy followed but slower, wincing with each movement. When tumbled forward again, barely bracing himself on his knees and hands, Stiles rushed to brace him. Isaac was sweating, taking in deep breaths and releasing them quickly. His face twisted in pain. It crossed Stiles’ mind to call someone for help, but he didn’t have his phone on him. He thought he brought it with him, but he might have left it back at his Jeep.

"Can you call the pack? Maybe one of them can help.”

Isaac shook his head. “My phone broke.” He turned his head to the side, pointing a finger past Stiles aiming towards the ground a couple feet from them. The tattered remains of a phone was on the ground. The screen was broken and it looked a little dented on the side. 

 _Well damn._  

Stiles couldn’t leave Isaac here so he could go get his phone. Despite the winged creature being dead, it didn’t settle his concerns that something else could come along to attack the beta. Say the Alpha pack for example.

He was going to regret this, he knew it. As much as he wanted to stubbornly refuse, he and Isaac needed to get out of here. He had the option to take him to Deaton, but the man was at the clinic, no doubt with patients of his own, so it wouldn't be a good idea to bring and bloody, half-healing werewolf kid into the vet's clinic, asking for help when the hospital made more sense to curious onlookers. He wasn't going to use his magic to help, that would raise far more questions, far more problems than he wanted to deal with right now. He already had enough on his plate and he didn't need to lose more sleep over having the pack potentially learn about what he was. His options were very limited. He knew that. He also knew what he needed to do and he felt his insides turn at the thought. 

He sighed heavily, resigned at what he had to do, the path that would lead to least problems, but still not much more pleasant.

Stiles bent down to take Isaac's hand, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. The boy looked at him in surprise for a second before gave a small nod of understanding. Slowly, he got his legs under himself and Stiles supported more of his weight as he helped him straighten himself. Isaac hissed in pain as his muscles stretched and lengthened with his body, but otherwise he was doing okay. Stiles knew that the poison or venom, whatever it was, was still going to be in the young beta's system for a while. He hoped it wasn't fatal, but so far Isaac seemed to be doing fine. He was alert and he was breathing fine. The blood flow was slowing more, but his cuts weren't healing. It was possible, this poison didn't have any real effect on werewolves or that it was never meant to kill, just incapacitate or hinder abilities. Stiles had a lot of research to do when he got home, but first things first.

"Okay, my jeep is in that direction," he said pointing towards the edge of the clearing he came into, "a little over a mile away. We can get there and I'll take you home. Do you think you can walk long enough to do that?"

Isaac looked at him with an eyebrow raised and a cocky smirk. "I think I can manage. Werewolf and all." Isaac then took his arm away from around Stiles, pushing him away a little before starting to take a step. He was able to get in one step before he tried to take another and his legs collapsed from under him, making Isaac face plant the ground.

Stiles couldn't help the satisfied scoff that came from his throat, but he tried to stifled it, if a little unsuccessful. "Well, then you are welcome to crawl to my jeep, but I somehow don't think that will be very quick and I still have dinner to make."

Isaac growled from the ground. Stiles moved himself into Isaac's line of sight, part of his face in the long grass, while his left eye was looking up at him with irritation and winced in pain as he attempted to move. He said something, but it was muffled under the grass and dirt below, so Stiles couldn't catch it.

If Stiles broke into a little smile, who could blame him. He and Isaac had never been close and often times Isaac was rather terse and cocky with him. Stiles knew it was a facade, after what he heard about Isaac and his father, about the good for nothing man who beat his kid and terrorized him, Stiles supposed that the boy deserved to feel some semblance of control in his life. But still, seeing him like this, a werewolf, who made it a point to belittle Stiles for being human and running with them a few times, well Stiles did feel a little bit smug. 

"Well come on, we don't have all day." Stiles said, snapping his fingers and waving his hand in the direction they supposed to be heading. Isaac growled at him again, the eyes he could see flashing yellow. "Come on boy," he called."

Isaac said something then, but Stiles still couldn't hear him. He could still hear the rumble of his chest though even if he was about a foot or two away. He watched as Isaac moved his arms to push himself over on the ground, his arms shaking with the effort it took. When he rolled over, he had scoff of dirt on his face and pieces of pale yellow grass in his blonde curls. "You are lucky that fight took most of my energy," he said through clenched teeth.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "The fight didn't zap you of your energy dumbass. You were poisoned, with venom or something." Stiles went a few feet away to pick up two feather to take with him, feeling the softness of the feathers, but he could feel the quill under it. When he stared at it, he noticed a barged point at the top of the feather, hidden behind the black fibers. Well no wonder they flew through the air so easily. They were essentially daggers. He was careful to not touch the glistening fibers, thinking that the poison came from them, thereby coating the barb. Yeah, he definitely wanted to do some research. 

If he was being honest, he was excited about it. Another monster, besides a werewolf or kanima. Something else to learn. Maybe this creature was in his mom's Grimoire. 

He came back to Isaac holding the two feathers carefully by the quill at the bottom, showing him. "Remember these," he asked. "My guess is these are not just for flight." Stiles carefully put the feathers in his back pocket, gingerly edging them into the fabric so that they weren't going to poke him and he made sure the fibers were not touching his skin. "Anyway, I'll see what I can find out about that thing. Hopefully that is the last we see of it."

Stiles didn't wait for Isaac to say anything or make an attempt to argue that he was fine. He infused a little of his magic into his arms, hefting Isaac up quickly by his arm so he could wrap it around his neck again. Isaac raised his eyebrows at the sudden display of strength, but he didn't say anything. Instead Isaac kept his mouth closed, his eyes trained ahead, and he gripped Stiles' shoulder more firmly, holding himself up as best he could with the support.

It took a few steps before they found a stride that was comfortable for them. It took some time, but slowly and surely they made it from the clearing and into the cover of trees and were what Stiles hoped to be nearly there toward his jeep. About halfway there, Isaac had started to walk more on his own, taking some of weight from Stiles' but not fully. Stiles kept glancing at him, testing to see if there were any other signs of the poison or venom taking a toll on him. He hoped that they got back to his jeep soon. He didn't like the possibility of Isaac collapsing suddenly and none of them having a way to call for help. Stiles used his magic to sense where his jeep was, silently sending it out track his recent steps. They didn't talk as they made their way through the forest. The sounds of their shuffling, surrounding by the echos of birds, waving leaves on the breeze, and disturbances of the brush and botanical life around from the animals nearby were the only things that disturbed the silence. Stiles could smell the Preserve and he welcomed it. He loved the smell of pine, dirt, fresh air and, rain on the air. It always helped to calm him and he wondered if some part of him, some part of his supernatural heritage, felt at peace with nature so close. Was it the same for Isaac as a werewolf?

"What were you doing out here," Isaac asked suddenly, breaking him from his thoughts.

He knew that question was bound to come up. Good thing he put that glamour on himself. He only hid what he wanted to. That meant his scars, his scent, and his heartbeat. The good thing about that spell was that it could be used in different way. It could hide things completely or it could change them to be what he wanted them to be. If he wanted his scars to remain hidden, then the spell allowed that. If he wanted his heartbeat to remain steady, the spell would make that so. It only worked on the outside. The only person who would know the truth would be him. He would be the only one to feel if his heart was racing or see his scars. It was like a mirror. He could see out, know the truth, while the mirror projected what he wanted the world to see, nothing else.

"I followed it," he answered, knowing his glamour would hide any blips in his heart beat. If there was any. He had gotten pretty damn good a lying, he just hadn't been able to test it around a werewolf for over a the past few months. In all honesty, he didn't think he needed the glamour, it was just a precaution. Especially for his scars. Those he could _never_ hide without help. "I saw it in town. I was heading to the station when I saw it over the treeline on one of the back roads. I couldn't be sure, but I was curious so I followed it. When I thought it came to the Preserve, I parked my jeep, got out and came this way. Imagine my surprise when I found you, when you found it."

"Are you demented," Isaac asked quickly. Stiles noticed he seemed a little annoyed and angry. Before he could say anything Isaac continued, "I mean seriously. What would you have done if that thing came after you?"

"Why be still my beating heart," Stiles said in mock surprise. "Isaac Lahey worried about little old me. I'm feeling a little light headed."

"Stiles-"

He laughed. He couldn't help it. It had been a while since he allowed himself to joke with someone else other than Danny and his dad. It was a breath of fresh air. It made him feel a little more normal even if it was at Isaac's expense. Even though this situation wasn't exactly normal, it was _their_ normal, which made Stiles want to relish in it just a little. At Isaac's look of annoyance and the tighter grip his made on Stiles' shoulder-which rude-it made Stiles stop his snickering, but he still had a small smile on his face.

"Look what I do or don't do is my choice. I don't need a lecture from you when you were also on your own out here. If I hadn't come by, maybe you would be dead by now," he said rather matter-of-factly. He didn't care if Isaac believe him or not. His heart wasn't going to give anything away, but he also wasn't going to stand by and let Isaac berate him on coming out here and therefore helping him at the same time. He could always leave him to his own devices and see where it takes him.

"I am a werewolf." Isaac said petulantly. "I heal faster, I'm stronger and faster and you are-"

"Human."

Stiles didn't mean for the word to sound like a curse, but he couldn't stop it now. He was not ashamed about being human, he never was. Sure he had a few opportunities to become a werewolf. Hell Peter offered him the Bite and he refused. He didn't want to be werewolf. He didn't want that kind of burden nor did he want to be a burden to anyone else. He didn't want people to expect his anger to take over, or his instincts. There may be benefits to being a werewolf, but he also knew there were benefits to being just human. Stiles was okay with that. If the Isaac didn't like that choice, then that was on him to deal with. Isaac made his choice to become a werewolf as an escape from his father and his fear, Stiles commended him for it, no matter if he sometimes thought it was a rash choice, but he wasn't going to make him feel less for it. The same went with the pack as well.

It wasn't like Stiles was associated with them anymore anyway, so why should he care. Besides he had magic. Name a werewolf that had that!

"That's not what I meant." Isaac said quickly, looking at him sorrowfully.

Stiles shrugged, waving his hand in slight dismissal. "Regardless of what you meant, it is true. I am human. But don't forget this human is helping you. You barely possess the strength to keep yourself upright and your 'fast healing' looks to be slower than normal, close to a human's right now."

They both fell silent after that. Stiles was not angry, he was barely annoyed. He didn't care what Isaac thought of him. He didn't care that he was human and breakable. Stiles had been through a hell of a lot this summer, more than any the pack would ever know. He has grown in that time, both outside as well as inside. He was harder and he was stronger for it. Does he wish didn't have to endure all of that, God yes, but he couldn't change it. He couldn't dwell on it. He didn't allow himself to.

Isaac stayed quiet for a while and Stiles left him to his own thoughts as they trudged their way towards his jeep. Eventually after maybe an hour, maybe almost two, his jeep came into view. Stiles sighed in relief at the sight of his jeep and Isaac did much of the same. They picked up their pace, stumbling a little to get over twigs and rocks, rounding trees, every second bringing them closer. Finally, nearly panting they made it. Stiles helped Isaac to the passenger side, opening up the door quickly, before gingerly helping the beta inside the cabin. He was careful to not jostle his healing injuries. He noticed the cuts looked better than what they did before, no longer bleeding and slightly scabbing over. The one on his head was no longer bleeding either and he had wipe the blood from his face on his arm, smearing it a little on his skin, but at least it wasn't serious. Isaac looked less pale, but had a small sheen of sweat on his brow. It would take possibly the rest of the night for him to heal completely and be back to normal, but Stiles wasn't sure. As long as he was healing, Stiles figured that was a good sign.

Closing the door and rounding to the driver's side, he carefully took out the feathers from his back pocket to put them on the seat between them before climbing in. Starting the old girl, the jeep roared to life. Before he started driving, he searched for his phone, finding it underneath the jacket he brought with him that morning. he gave it to Isaac telling him to call Derek, Scott, or whoever. Turning Roscoe down the road and to the only place he knew Isaac would be safe.

Stiles silently listened to the conversation Isaac had with Derek. No doubt the man first wondering why Stiles was calling him, then hearing it to be Isaac, most likely putting the Alpha on edge. He heard Isaac give vague overview about what happened, saying he was attacked and Stiles was with him and helped him, yes Isaac was okay, yes he was on his way back. Stiles was surprised to hear Isaac say that Stiles was safe also, meaning the man had asked. Stiles didn't know what to make of that, but maybe he figured Derek was just being polite since he was nearby listening to the conversation. After that, Isaac said he would be there soon and then hung up. The boy was silent for a few moments after that, his eyes scanning the forest around them. No doubt looking for the any appearance of the winged-creature. Despite Stiles knowing the creature would never harm them again, he was comforted by Isaac keeping an eye out. It meant he could focus on the road and get lost in his own thoughts.

Stiles had a lot to figure out. He had to research this creature and on top of it all find Erica and Boyd. He still wanted to find the Nemeton, hoping it would at least be a place he could at least focus his magic on the best tracking spell he could find so far in order to find the betas. Or at least being near the sacred tree would strengthen his magic enough to narrow down the area even more. Each time he tried a tracking spell, he always pointed to Beacon Hills as a whole. It bounced between their houses, to the school, to where old train station where Derek lived. All of the places they would normally be if they were still here. He already had something from both of them, pieces of clothing that they wore, having gotten that from Danny. How he got those items, he had no idea nor did he ask at the time, he was too happy to give the spell a try.

Yet, to no avail they couldn't get a definitive place of where they were. Only where they have been.

"Where are you going," Isaac said looking out the window. 

"Uh...taking you to Derek's," he said, now a little nervous about Isaac's memory. He feared the poison was having other side effects.

Isaac looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Derek." Stiles said, really starting to worry now. "You know 6 feet, dark hair, usually red eyes, always sour puss attitude."

"This isn't the way to Derek's place."

"This is the way to the old train station. Near the outskirts of the east end of town, across from the old middle school that is now being converted to an insurance company. Ring any bells," he asked.

"Derek doesn't live at the train station anymore. He rented out a loft in the industrial area, the one being remodeled with new condos and apartment buildings." Isaac had said, looking at him closely.

He looked like he really believe his words. Which meant that Stiles was wrong. He hadn't heard about Derek actually finding a place to live in. Something that wasn't abandoned or run down, falling apart around him. Stiles was pleasantly surprised. He didn't know what to say to this new information. But then what could he say? He wasn't entitled to know. He wasn't pack. So of course he wouldn't know. No one would have told him. Not to mention he hasn't spoken to any of them in months, he hasn't seen any of them since before summer started.

"Oh," he found himself saying instead, ignoring the drop his stomach made. "Well that's good. Good for him."

"You didn't know," Isaac said incredulously. Stiles avoided his gaze, focusing on the road. He was silently thanking his magic and glamour he has on himself. He was afraid Isaac would hear his heart skin a beat at the information. Or smell his unease or distress at what he has missed. Sure Stiles was still upset about everything that happened with Derek and Scott, but that was in the past now. He had moved on, and apparently so have they.

"I've been rather busy," Stiles said, which was only half the truth. He has been busy. He has been unconscious for over a week while his mind, his soul, wandered into another plane. Who could blame him on being preoccupied?

Isaac was shaking his head in his peripheral vision. "You have been rather checked out lately. Ever since the beginning of the summer. No one has seen you. No one has talked to you. Scott has been asking me about you."

So Scott has been talking to Isaac. Of course he was. The two of them have become rather close, even before the whole Gerard incident. "I have my reasons."

"What because he didn't tell you about Gerard," Isaac asked looking annoyed now. "So what? He didn't tell any of us. Not to mention Lydia said you didn't want to help with the Alpha pack. You have been working on finding Erica and Boyd, yet you have not been coming up with anything remotely helpful." Stiles tightened his hold on the steering wheel. Isaac didn't seem to notice as he kept going. "You are supposed to be helping and you standby and do nothing."

Stiles stopped his jeep immediately, jerking the vehicle to a stop. It almost threw Isaac into the front dash, hissing as the movement stretch the skin of his still healing cuts. Holding onto the side of his head like the jolt of movement caused his head to ache, or at least ache even more. _Good,_ Stiles thought. He was now agitated and Isaac needed to remember the place he was in. He felt his magic burn inside him, creeping along his skin, aching to be released like it felt his anger and wanted to do something about it. Stiles didn't need anyone telling him what he should be doing.

He knew perfectly well what he should do. He was working blind like the rest of them, but instead of sniffing the air, he was using his magic to, honing it, trying to understand it, all in an effort to find the two betas. The two betas who had endured torture for hours at the hands of hunters, the two betas who got kidnapped, just to be set free, only to be taken again, by who knows what or who. The Alpha pack was certainly a possibility but since said pack was playing hide and seek for a while, no one has heard anything from them in a while to even suggest seeking Erica and Boyd with them. Stiles would do anything to find them and bring them home, just so he could let go of his guilt that he had failed them, if only a little. He was not pack and never would be, but at least he could stop reliving the nightmare of failing them, seeing them either tear him apart or watch them die at hunter's hands, because he had not gotten to them in time.

"Listen Lahey," he said calmly, venomously, bringing Isaac's gaze to meet his. Isaac seemed to freeze in the seat, his blue eyes slightly wide. "I am working with what I have. While you and the others put your noses to work I have to rely on actual smarts. I have no instincts to follow, no trails to pick up on, no abilities to search the town's territory and beyond quickly with enhanced speed or senses. I have my wit and ideas and when I think of possible places someone may want to lay low or hide someone in this town I let Lydia know because your senses would be able to pick up on them better than eyesight alone." Isaac was still staring at him and Stiles held his gaze, keeping his voice even. It surprised him how steady he sounded, even how cold his tone was. His magic swirled and lifted in his chest, feeding off his emotions. He paid it no real mind, but he did tighten the fist still resting on the steering wheel, hoping to reign in his emotions just a little. "My relationship with Scott is none of your business and I will deal with him when I damn well feel like it. As for the Alphas, I am not getting involved because I have my dad to think about. He doesn't know about any of this and I would like to keep it that way. If they find out about me and then him, that will put him in danger and his job is dangerous enough. I will not be the one responsible for that. Not now or ever. As a human, I shouldn't even be doing any of this, yet I am. I am doing it out of respect and to help bring Erica and Boyd home. But instead I am helping your ungrateful ass because nor you or the pack thought to travel in at least pairs what with the Alpha pack around and now there are other creatures that are new to us. You should count your small mercies, because you just might be running out. You get me?"

Steeling himself further, he turned away from Isaac, putting Roscoe back into drive and heading towards the industrial area in the northern part of town. He kept looking ahead, studiously driving and nothing else. He felt his magic coil inside him, simmering down, resting like a vigilant guardian. He was still annoyed, but he regretted nothing. He actually felt a little better about it. It wasn't everything that he wanted to get off his chest and throw into Isaac's face, but it was enough to not arouse suspicions about his magic or even about Danny or his dad actually knowing the truth and having known for most of his life.

It was quiet in the cabin, for a long few minutes. Stiles stopping at stop signs and stop lights when they got into town. Turning and winding his way through the streets, heading closer to their destination. Stiles felt the quicker he got their, the quicker he could get all of this over with. 

"I'm sorry," Isaac said beside him. Stiles chanced a small look at the beta, seeing him avoiding his eyes, looking down at his lap and the dashboard, but no where else. His hands resting in his lap, picking at his nails nervously as he kept his gaze down. "You are right. I have no business telling you what you should do. I'm sorry. I have forgotten about your dad, about what he doesn't know. I suppose I have forgotten about the knowledge of having one. Or at least one who cares and one your care about in return. I'm not making excuses, I'm just saying that you are right. You are right to want to keep your dad from all of this, trying to protect him. There is no telling what would happen if he knew. Not everyone is like Melissa McCall, not everyone will understand this or...us."

Stiles sighed, raking a hand down his face as if to clear his left over annoyance and the creeping feeling of exhaustion. The glamour charm was starting to become a chore to hold onto. "It's okay Isaac."

The other boy shook his head. "No it's not. I shouldn't have assumed. I shouldn't have made you feel like you weren't helping because you are. I know you and I have never been on the best of terms and that was mostly my fault. For that I am sorry. I am grateful for your help in searching for Erica and Boyd. I want them to be found. I _really_ want them home. I just hate feeling...like I'm powerless."

Stiles can relate. God, he can relate in some of the worst ways.

"It's okay," he said again. "I know you are worried. We all are. We won't give up on them," he said confidently, sincerely. 

Isaac was silent for a moment, before he piped up again saying, "And thank you. For finding me when you did."

Stiles smiled a little to himself. "Your welcome."

"You look different too," Isaac said suddenly, making Stiles freeze. He feared his glamour was gone. Did Isaac see his scar? "I mean, you just, I don't know. It's a good different, but not the same."

Stiles didn't know what to say to that. He wondered if Isaac was sensing his magic or if his glamour spell was sending off a signal of sorts, but that shouldn't happen. He wasn't sure if he should take Isaac's words to heart. He may have said it was a good different, but it wasn't like he could elaborate on it. Stiles was never one to take compliments, it made him blush, slightly embarrassed, but it was also because he never got compliments on his appearance. Not since his mom.

So he said nothing, instead they spent the rest of the ride in companionable silence, except when Isaac gave him directions, aiming him towards the the area they needed to go to and then towards the very large industrial apartment building they parked at. There were several cars out front. Stiles recognized Derek's Camaro, Jackson's Porsche, and what he assumed was Peter's dark cherry Mercedes. Stiles rolled his eyes at the local car show as he pulled his old jeep up to park next to the Mercedes. Hopping out, he quickly rounded over to Isaac, the beta having already swung the door open and starting to slowly ease himself out of the jeep. 

Stiles helped him out, taking an arm over his shoulders again, before closing the door behind them and heading to the side door to let themselves in. Stiles guess this building was going to function as an apartment building or condos, but it didn't seem completely finished. The inside was still mostly drywall and concrete. The flooring covered with floorboards and rolled up carpet laid against the walls for the carpenters and designers. Stiles was surprised that anyone could rent out available spaces since the building didn't look finished, but he supposed a lot could happen for you if your forked over money and an intimidating scowl.

What irked him was when he noticed the lift was out of order, so instead they had to take the stairs. When he asked what floor Derek was on, Isaac confirmed his fear of the top floor. _Well shit_ , he thought. Isaac was able to hold himself up most of the way so he extracted himself from Stiles, but kept a hand on his arm as way to ground him. Stiles kept his hand hovering at his back, ready to catch him if he showed signs of faltering. They climbed the stairwell, Stiles grumbling under his breath about the number of steps, having to pick the top floor, antisocial werewolves, and sour wolf Alphas. If Isaac snickered a little as they went higher, neither paid it any mind. 

Upon reach the top floor and opening the door at the top, Stiles had a light sheen of sweat on his brow and he took comfort in Isaac having much the same. He beta wasn't done healing so Stiles felt better about him not being the only one effected by the climb at this time. When Isaac stopped at a large metal door that looked like it slide open, he was wondering if he was about to knock. Only the door slid open, groaning as it did as if in protest. Revealing a Jackson behind it and large loft space behind him.

Upon seeing his pack mate, hurt and looking exhausted, Jackson moved forward, pulling Isaac's other arm around his own shoulder so he and Stiles could lead him inside. Stiles tried to keep his eyes from looking over everything, but he couldn't help it. The place was nothing special really, but it was a decent size. It had a concrete floor with four large wooden and concrete pillars going from floor to ceiling, no doubt being part of the structure to hold up the second floor. The far wall was a large window that nearly went from floor to ceiling as well, with a slight arch at the top. In the far left corner was a spiral metal staircase. There was a blackish-blue suede couch with a coffee table in front of it near the center of the room and a desk on the far side up against the window with a chair behind it. The right side was a brick wall that opened up into a kitchen. In the far corner, tucked away was a queen sized bed, with black comforter and pillows. Aside from that, there was nothing else. Not that it surprised him. All of this was a bit more startling than he expected it to be. Like holy shit there was actual furniture.

Turning his eyes away from everything else, he saw the other people in the room. But he kept himself from focusing on them. His felt his heart beating hard in his chest, but he forced to take deep breaths, trying to get it under control. Even if the glamour was masking it, he needed to control his own emotions. He was nervous and he frankly didn't want to be here. Stiles didn't want to see these faces, the faces of those he had gone all summer without seeing. The faces of those he tried so hard for and in the end got nothing out of it.

He saw Jackson lead Isaac to the couch, letting him slip down on the cushion with a look that practically said 'fucking finally.' "What happened," he heard Jackson say to him.

Isaac swallowed, looking at his chest with a grimace before answering. "I was out making my rounds. Trying to catch any amount of scent from Erica or Boyd. I was near the southeast border of the territory. I heard a weird thumping sound, but didn't pay it much mind. I was almost done when I heard a screech. It was unlike anything I ever heard, but it was animalistic in a way. I came to a small clearing, but I didn't see anything. It wasn't till I was about to go back to my searching that this winged-creature came out of no where, kicking me in the back, sending me to the ground."

"Can you describe this thing," Peter said, from the back of the large room where he was skulking. 

No one seemed to pay Stiles any mind as he stood there by the door. He didn't push himself to say anything, just listened like the rest of them. It wasn't his place to interrupt anyway. 

"Black mostly. Dark brown skin. It had wings for arms, with large black feathers. It had feathers on it's body too, going from neck to mid-thigh. It looked like a woman or at least part of it's body did. It had bright green eyes, no nose, just slits to breathe from. All of it's teeth were sharp, but kind of small."

"Anything else," Jackson asked beside him.

"It had talons for feet. Large bird like talons, black and curved."

"And this thing did this to you," Derek asked from the middle of the room. Stiles tried to not feel his magic heat up at the Alpha's voice. It was rising within him, his emotions all over the charts. He was unsettled and his magic was itching to get out just to relieve some of the energy inside him.

Isaac nodded. "I tried to fight it off. I was able to hurt it a bit, but it managed to get the drop on me. It poisoned me or something. With it's feathers."

"It's what," Jackson asked in bewilderment.

"It's feathers," Stiles said, pulling one of the feathers he took from his jeep to show to the others. "It's got a barbed point at the tip, explaining why it was able to use it like a throwing knife. It's got some kind of coating on its fibers. I figured it might be the source of where its poison came from."

"Why do you have that then," Peter asked from the window an eyebrow arched.

Stiles shrugged, "You know of a better way to identify what this thing is or if this poison or venom is dangerous?"

When he felt everyone's eye on him, he tried his best to not fidget. He hated being the center of attention, he always has. Stiles didn't care that he was in a room with four other werewolves and he was the only human, the only one not part of the pack, but he cared when they all looked at him with a mixture of emotions on their faces. Isaac was looking at him rather softly with understanding, Jackson had a look of curiosity and confusion. Peter stood in the back of the place, his expression was unreadable to Stiles, but he could have sworn the man smiled at him, his eyes gleaming as he did. Then there was Derek.

Before he had a chance to look at the Alpha, he heard a scoffing behind him and in came Scott, his headphones in his ears, carrying his backpack with what looked like books in them and two bags filled with take out containers from the local Kung Pow chicken place. When he came in and saw the pack staring and then turned to see Stiles who he passed while he wasn't paying attention, he nearly dropped the bags on the floor. Stiles felt like he had been punched in the gut at seeing his best friend. He also felt a wave of bitter anger wash through him as saw Scott here, looking so casual.

Here Stiles was, standing before the pack that kicked him out. The pack who thought he willingly betrayed them, betrayed their Alpha, even after everything he had done for them. After he had been kidnapped, tortured, nearly raped and killed because he was with them. All so Gerard could get information on said pack when all along he was getting it from Scott. When all along it was Scott who made the decision to betray them. It was Scott who worked with Gerard, and maybe they were done on the best intentions, trying to protect Melissa and Allison, but at the cost of the lives of the pack. Did Scott not think that if Gerard turned into a werewolf, if his plan had backfired or not worked, that the old man would not kill them all after killing Derek? He would be an Alpha and if he didn't get the other to submit to him, he would kill them.

Stiles had thought all of this before and seeing Scott again brought all those thoughts and memories back. His former best friend was staring at him with wide, puppy dog eyes, an honest smile breaking on his lips. Stiles felt nausea and anger spill into his body, his magic surging like a wave inside him, answering to his bottled up emotions that he was trying to hold himself back on. How could he be so stupid?

How could he think that he _and_ Scott would be trusted by the pack after what happened? They all knew the truth. They all knew what Scott did and they believed that Stiles helped him with it. That Stiles was the one to formulate the plan. He was the brains after all. Derek believed that himself. It seemed right that both of them would be on the outs with the pack. Yet here Scott was, carrying take out for everyone, looking the picture of relaxed if a little distracted, walking into Derek's place like it was a regular thing. Smiling at Stiles like all was well.

God, he was such a _fucking idiot_.

Of course they would forgive Scott. He was just the tool in all of it. Stiles was the one to create the plan, formulate it into a ploy to get at Gerard. Scott was just the muscle, but had a purpose to protect the two people he cared about the most. Not to mention, Scott was a werewolf. If he was not part of the pack, he would be out of it. Everything Stiles read meant that if a wolf had no pack, they would become an Omega. Often times that lead to temper problems, shifting more and becoming dangerous. The wolf would essentially become feral. Derek couldn't have that. No, he couldn't have a feral Scott out there on the lose. Despite all of the boy's belly aching about Derek and how he ran things, he gladly rolled over when it meant he was on the outs and needed them. Derek wouldn't say no, it meant adding more power to his pack, to him, but also keeping a lid on a potential crisis.

Stiles felt sick. He felt damn well near humiliated. He wanted to scream and shout at all of them. He wanted to punch Scott so hard, infusing his arm with his magic just so he could see Scott's nose bleed. He wanted to see the hurt in his eyes, at knowing that his former best friend was lost to him. Stiles shouldn't care about him, he knew he shouldn't. Over a decade had gone into their friendship and he has nothing to show for it. He wanted to throw Derek against the wall like he had done to Stiles a dozen times, telling him he can go to hell. Out of the start of the nightmarish summer, he got dealt the hand with the Joker in it. He had been played for a fool.

As Scott was about to speak, Stiles beat him to it, shaking off his initial shock, burying his rising emotions deep. He was good at games, well now was the time to see how good his poker face really was.

"I was going to take this to Deaton and see if he can identify what the creature was, hopefully quickly before it returns," he said evenly, looking at Peter, instead of anyone else.

He ignored the shuffling of Scott off to the side. "Hey, buddy," he said almost gingerly. "You look different. Like I don't know..."

Stiles ignored him, refusing to acknowledge the way Scott seemed to notice a change in him since the last time he saw him. But then it seemed Scott's brain caught up to what was being said and he quickly switched gears to, "Wait, creature? What creature?" When his eyes found Isaac slumped on the sofa, his eyes widened, he walked over to Isaac, barely touching his skin as he looked at the wounds. "Dude, you okay? What happened?"

"We will explain," Isaac said, gently moving Scott from his line of sight of Stiles. "Do you think he will help," he asked him.

Stiles shrugged, leaving the question a little unanswered. He wasn't going to go to Deaton's. He was going to research this thing himself. The monster was already dead, so who cared if he indulged himself in a little light reading. The pack didn't need to know that now.

"Well text one of us when you find out about it," Peter said from the other side of the room. His voice sounded gentle, but with something underneath that Stiles couldn't pinpoint.

"Wait," Scott said quickly, turning back around to look at Stiles. "What are you doing here? What do you know about what happened to Isaac? What is this creature?

Stiles tried hard to not roll his eyes. "Apparently I'm here to play 20 questions. Look I found Isaac and thankfully that thing flew off when it realized he wasn't alone. It could have been far worse. But never look a gift horse in the mouth, right?"

"It ran from you," Jackson asked from beside Isaac. He didn't ask unkindly, but rather puzzled, like he was trying to piece together a riddle.

"Either that or it got distracted by something else."

Peter spoke up then, "Where did it go?"

"How should I know? Does it look like I followed it?"

"I mean which direction did it go," the older wolf said with an amused quirk of his lips.

Stiles pretended to think for a few second before answering. "Uh, south I think."

"What were you doing out in the Preserve?"

Stiles barely wanted to make eye contact with Derek when he spoke. The man had been silent for the entire exchange of information. Stiles looked at him anyway. The tone of the Alpha wolf sounded curious, but with an underline tension and accusation in it that Stiles didn't like. He felt his magic coil tighter inside him, like a fiery snake getting agitated. In truth, Stiles himself was angry, he was hurt (emotionally), but that was a given. He didn’t want to come here, but he wasn’t going to let Isaac become easy prey for anyone in the Preserve especially with the Alpha pack around. So yeah he made eye contact with the Alpha werewolf, staring back at the man evenly.

Derek's was set in his usual scowl, although Stiles could see shadows under his eyes. Derek looked just like how Stiles remembered. His dark hair artfully mussed, frown on his face, bright hazel eyes and dark the ever present dark stubble that was so unfair to see sometimes. Wearing a pale gray henley and dark jeans and boots. Stiles had to fight back the urge to punch Derek as well, wanting to just wipe that scowl from his face, if only to make it go to one of surprise, all for Stiles' benefit. Just for the satisfaction of seeing the man look at him differently for once. Stiles had seen Derek furious, angry, and petulant, none of those faces intimated him anymore. Those gazes once made him sweat and make him stutter nervously, made him want to fidget and either run or stay perfectly still like a statue. That was before the summer started. Now as he gazed at the man he had been actively avoiding think about, he found that he was numb to anything about the man.

Was it everything he had been through? Was it because of what Derek did? Because he wasn’t pack?

Stiles was not intimated by the Alpha. Not anymore. 

Honey brown eyes meeting luminous hazel steadily. He watched as Derek’s muscles in his jaw and throws locked up and relaxed before repeating over and over again, like he was forcing himself to remain still or swallowed something he was trying to keep down. Stiles wanted to leave. He was long past done being in this room, in the damn building. He wanted to leave before he overstayed his welcome. That is if he was ever welcomed to begin with. 

 "I saw the creature flying near town. I followed it to see where it could be going. Perhaps see if it was working with the Alpha pack or whatever. I almost lost it when I heard Isaac’s roar," Stiles replied easily.

Stiles saw the tick of Derek's jaw. "And you thought that going after it alone was a good idea? You thought that being out in the the woods with that thing and the Alpha's that it was a good idea?" Derek had asked rather tensely.

"Yeah what we’re you thinking buddy?” Scott chimed in leaning against the side of the back cushion of the sofa.

Stiles shrugged. “It’s not like either one is after me or would see me as a threat so why would they bother?"

"Still-"

"Still was my choice," he said calmly, cutting off Scott. "And anyway, since Isaac is back with his father, uncle, and brothers,” he said indicating each person in the room, referring to Derek as father, Scott and Jackson as brothers, and Peter as everyone's favorite creepy uncle, who arched an eyebrow as he looked at him, obviously amused, “I'd say I'm done here and going to go.”

"Wait Stiles," Scott began, "where are you going?"

"Home?"

Scott looked uncomfortable, nervous even. "Don't you...I mean you could stay with us, right," he said looking at Isaac and Derek, before turning back to him. "We could hang out a bit...eat the food I brought. We can go over any more ideas about finding Erica and Boyd."

Stiles shook his head. He was tired. He felt drained. It wasn't really physical, but emotional and magical. The glamour was still draining his resources and he needed to lower it soon or it would fall away on it's own. "I can’t. I have dinner to make and other work to do. I might have an idea about where they could be, but I need to research a bit more and make sure that it is a good lead to follow."

Derek seemed to perk up then, taking his eyes from the floor to look at Stiles again. "You know where they are?"

"I said I _might_ have an _idea_."

"You didn’t think to share with me," Derek asked with the hint of a growl in his voice.

"There was nothing to share," he said as calmly as he could. He was so close to fed up. The pressure of his magic in his chest was building, ready to burst like a bomb or a spout of fire. He feared which one would be the more likely.

Derek's eyes seemed to tinge with red. "They are my betas. I have a right to know. If you have any information on them then you need to tell me instead of hiding it." 

Stiles scoffed. He couldn't help it. "What I have is nothing but a theory." He looked at the Alpha in the eyes, not back down from the piercing gaze. Maybe Stiles had a death wish, he didn't know. Either way he couldn't care less. He was over this conversation. He didn't need Derek's Alpha pride and anger getting in the way. "That said theory requires thinking, something useless for you. Until I know for certain it is to prove fruitful, a theory is all it is."

"You said you would keep us updated on any ideas," the man added, ignoring the jab at him, neither breaking the stare off.

"And I have," Stiles said in a hard tone. "Like I said you will know something when I know. Until then I suggest you look after the beta who is _still_ healing and I will go find out what exactly attacked him. Unless you have a better idea, Hale, I'm all ears."

The mention of Isaac still being hurt, broke Derek's gaze from Stiles'. He looked at his wounded beta, a complicated emotion on his handsome face. Isaac was looking better, but it still be a while before there was no evidence left over. He was safe now. Stiles' work was done. It was already early evening now. He needed to get home himself and he was antsy to get going. He should have already left.

"I’ll send a text to Lydia if what I find is worth taking a closer look," he said with finality, already taking a step back about to head for the still open door.

"Thank you, again." Isaac said from the couch, a tilt of his lips at he gave Stiles an open look. "For your help."

Stiles gave a little nod at him before a little wave at him, then was about to leave.

"You can send a text to any of us," Scott said in a hopeful voice. "It doesn't have to be just Lydia. We will all answer your call. I could come by and help you if want."

Stiles didn't know how to take those statements. He rather not try to decipher them anyway. He knew Scott was trying to coax him into breaking. Trying to get Stiles to let down his guard so Scott and him could exchange words with each other. In all honesty, he wanted to avoid that. He knew if he started saying anything to Scott, then he wouldn't stop. He knew Scott would not like what he had to say.

"I'm fine. This is what I do best. Leave this type of lifting for the humans,” he said dismissively, raking his eyes over Derek in passing as he turned to leave. He kept his face neutral, but he couldn't say if his eyes reflected his emotions or not. He didn't care to address it.

He walked out the door, using his left hand to pull the door close behind him without turning back around or breaking stride, leaving behind a group of werewolves staring at him in various states of shock and concern.

When he got outside, having nearly ran down the stairs, he breathed in the air, taking it heavily into his lungs then letting it out slowly in an attempt to calm himself. His agitation still flooding his body, his magic going from one side of his chest to the other like it was pacing. He climbed into his jeep quickly, sitting there for a few moments to continue taking breaths, trying to release the tension in his body, calm his emotions before something happened that he didn't mean to. Stiles release the glamour on his body, letting it drop and it felt like the invisible blanket was sliding over his skin, disappearing, being replaced by the early evening breeze. The sun was setting, turning the blue sky yellow and orange.

He gripped his steering wheel, just in case his hands were shaking, which he wasn't sure about. He laid his head against the back of his cabin, on the seat, closing his eyes. One who knew him might have thought he was recovering from a mild panic attack, but that wasn't it. He was frustrated, pissed, and hurt, and he felt humiliated. His stomach twisting at the knowledge.

Scott was pack. Derek accepted Scott into the pack, not him. After everything Scott did, all his arguing with Derek, it was like it was water under the bridge. Stiles was a fool to think that it wasn't just him, that Derek would want Scott to beg his forgiveness for what he forced him to do. Stiles was a fool to think he mattered at all to them. Even to Scott.

It proved to Stiles just how little they viewed him.

It didn't matter. Not anymore. He was not part of the pack so why should it matter to him. He had other friends. He had Danny and Lydia, people who saw him as something worth spending time with, acknowledging, and listening to. Stiles still hadn't talk with Lydia about everything, although he suspected she had put a great deal together herself. She was smart and she could have picked up on some hints or observations here and there. Speaking of Lydia, she was coming over for dinner with Danny, having not seen them both for two days. His dad insisted he get some rest, so they gave him the space to do so.

Sighing heavily, letting the tension go as much as he could, he turned his jeep on and accelerated on home. However at a stop light, he heard the sound of a siren. He looked to his left to see a Beacon Hills fire truck and ambulance weaving around stopped cars, blowing the siren and horn, going straight through the stop light, not stopping until they were out of sight.

It was then that Stiles remembered Ryan. He remembered Ryan and the date, not-date that they set last Friday. The Friday that had come and gone almost two weeks ago. It was currently Thursday and he had been unconscious in the Astral plane for over a week, waking up on the previous early Monday morning. He had spent the past few days resting, regaining his energy and strength. Stiles had forgotten all about it. Granted he didn't have a choice in the matter, but he also forgot about it in the days since he regained consciousness. He could imagine Ryan waiting for him at the coffee shop, ordering a coffee and sitting alone for who knows how long. 

That was a sad image. Stiles could relate to being forgotten about and it made him feel guilty for it. He had a good excuse, but still. He owed Ryan an explanation. He just had to think of one. 

Good thing he wasn't sleeping anymore. Caffeine was his new best friend.


	16. Start Emptying the Plate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up everyone! It's been a busy week, but I got this chapter out for you. It's not very exciting, but you get to see a point of view from a SPECIAL SOMEONE! LoL. I have already started on the next chapter and will probably update sometime early next week hopefully. Thanks everyone for being patient and loving this story so far. I am no where near done and the next chapter will be packed with juicy stuff. I can't wait to finish it. As always let me know what you think! I love reading your comments. Till next time! :D

"Well that went well." Peter said from the sofa.

Derek had finished helping Isaac, finished cleaning the cuts with Jackson, making sure that he looked to be healing, coming down the spiral stairs looking tired and deep in thought. Whatever that poison was in his body, it was making his healing slow, so Derek had to keep an eye on him. Peter would help with that and it was a good thing that the teenager was out of school. It gave them the chance to monitor him for the next few days, make sure he truly was okay. They hoped that it would exit his body soon or at least burn off with his werewolf healing.

Peter had been listening in from downstairs as Derek had gone up to sit with the teen. Jackson had stayed for a while before returning home, not wanting his parents to worry, especially after the almost dying fiasco when he was the kanima. Scott following a little later, heading home to meet his mom when she got off her double shift at the hospital. He listened to Derek asking questions, listened to Isaac's answers. Not once did the teen indicate any lying or deception. They talked about everything from what happened in every detail and then to how he was feeling. Even mentioning his broken phone when Derek asked why he or Stiles didn't try to call for help sooner. Peter wasn't surprised when the conversation strayed to more Stiles after that. Although that was more of Isaac's doing.

Derek seemed to go quiet after that, grunting or saying nothing at all. Peter didn't have to be in that room to practically see the stoic expression on his nephew's face. He had to suppress a chuckle at the thought. Instead he listened to Isaac talk about Stiles. Telling his alpha that the boy seemed different, but it wasn't bad. Just hard to explain. He talked about his and Stiles' conversation, about why Stiles hasn't been around, figuring that Derek would want to know. How he said somethings that were out of line. Peter was curious to know what Isaac had said to Stiles, but the boy didn't elaborate and Derek hadn't asked. At the end of it, Peter agreed that Isaac was right, Stiles was different.

Derek looked at his uncle scowling but ignored him otherwise. The sound of rock music playing upstairs being the only sound they could hear, other than each other's breathing and heartbeats. _Good, it means we can talk privately_ , Peter thought.

"Shouldn't you be getting some rest," Peter asked instead, turning away from the topic he really wanted to talk about.

Derek went to the kitchen. Peter heard him open the fridge to pull out a bottled water, opened it and taking a big swig, coming back into the main room as he did. "Shouldn't you be getting your own place?"

"Ouch." Peter said, not taking his eyes off the book in his hands. "And here I thought you would like having family around."

Peter saw out the corner of his eye as Derek went over to the desk chair and sat down in it, slumping a bit as he did. His head rolled back and he stared at the ceiling. Peter got the impression that his nephew was troubled by something, or maybe a lot of somethings, but he knew that Derek wouldn't talk about it. No matter how annoying he could get, he knew Derek would clam up so fast that it would take Peter resorting to more unfriendly manners to get him to speak. 

"How is he," Peter asked instead of shutting up.

"Don't pretend you weren't listening."

Peter shrugged, even though Derek didn't see it. "Regardless of what I heard, I didn't see. Is he really okay?"

Derek looked at his uncle before looking up at the stairs then nodded. "He seems fine. He's healing. It'll probably take all night before the cuts are completely gone, but otherwise..."

Peter nodded, turning his eyes back to his book. "He will be fine. We will watch him for a bit just to make sure, but still." Derek seemed to sighed, whether in relief or acceptance, Peter wasn't sure. "It's a good thing Stiles was there when he was."

"I cannot believe he could be that reckless," Derek said in a grumble of annoyance and anger. "He put himself and Isaac more at risk."

"Did he now?"

Derek nodded, raking his hands through his dark hair. "Yes. He should have never gone after that thing. Whatever it was. It was enough that Isaac got hurt, but what if he got hurt or killed. Who would have known? He says he wants to protect his father yet he does stuff like this."

"Stiles is more than capable of handling himself." Peter said this confidently, his mind straying away from his book to the whiskey eyed teen, the one who has possessed a fire in him even Peter saw when he was crazy.

Derek huffed. "Capable of getting himself killed," he muttered. "He said he was taking that feather to Deaton's to identify whatever that creature was."

Peter arched an eyebrow at his nephew. "That he did. Stiles has it covered."

"That's just it." The younger man said leaning forward in his chair, wiping his hands through his hair again, making it stand up more. His face morphing into a frown of thought. "He said he wanted no part of this."

"And we both know why that is," Peter sighed, rolling his eyes as he looked at the black and white page he was reading.

"I did what I had to," Derek growled. "I cannot have someone I can't trust in my pack."

"Does that include Scott?"

"I have made it clear where Scott stands. He shows no remorse for what he did. He is here for resource only," the Alpha said, leaning back in his chair letting his face return to it's default stoic look.

Peter closed his book, eyeing Derek evenly, looking at him square in the face. "And he comes over nearly everyday, making himself at home, like he belongs here. He talks with Isaac and Jackson. Offers to help look for Erica and Boyd. Throws out ideas when his brain actually provides one as rare as that is."

"What are you getting at Peter," he asked tensely.

"My point," he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch to sit up straight, "is that you are blurring the lines, dear nephew. You and I both know you have avoided Scott ever since he began walking through that door."

"I am not going to deny help when I know I need it," Derek said crossing his arms over his chest.

Peter nodded. "But you will deny Stiles."

"Stiles has his own priorities," Derek said slowly, still not looking away from Peter.

"What makes you say that?"

Derek sighed heavily, getting up from the chair, moving away from the desk. He wasn't walking anywhere, but just walking in general. Pacing without moving back and forth. "I talked with Isaac. He told me the reason why Stiles will not help with the Alpha pack."

"And that is?" Asked Peter, feigning ignorance even though it was meaningless. He knew Derek knew that he had been listening. He was just trying to coax Derek into speaking. His nephew was anything but talkative. It was like pulling teeth to get him to actually speak more than a few words. He had gotten better, but not by much. Derek never used to be like that. As a kid he was bright, open, and willingly social. It was a complete contrast, seeing the man that boy grew up to be. Peter couldn't speak ill of that. The past could be a heartless bitch and change you drastically. Look at him.

"He has his dad to worry about," Derek said near the window, looking out of it. What he was looking at Peter could only imagine. "He won't risk our secret, lest he believes that his dad will be safe. Isaac said he worries about the monsters we face learning who he is and therefore learning about his dad. He doesn't want to be responsible for his dad getting hurt in all of this."

Peter nodded. "A valid point. A noble one. But also futile."

"What?"

Peter just shrugged, both his shoulders and his lips. "Well what do you agree with?" He raised his hands. "Knowing the dangers and risks, but learning of ways to protect oneself, to be able to face it if something comes? Or being kept in the dark, where you are powerless, bound to fail when you don't understand what you see?" He finished tilting his hands this way and that, giving the metaphor of scales.

Derek leaned his back against the large window. The evening light pouring in. The moon casting a faint glow from behind the hazy clouds. "So you would want Stiles to tell his father."

"I think it would be a good thing for him," he replied honestly.

They were silent for a few moments. Listening to the water running through the pipes, the hum of the air conditioner, and the rock music still playing in Isaac's room upstairs. Peter was being truthful. He firmly believed that it would be beneficial for Stiles' dad to know about them. About all of it. It wasn't just to get the Sheriff of the Beacon Hill's department on their side-which come on who wouldn't see that a bonus-but to help Stiles's father understand what his boy has been up to. Peter knew that he would if he was in the man's shoes. He had no doubt the man was worried about him. Otherwise their relationship wouldn't be as strained as it appeared to be at times. He didn't know how much it had changed since summer had started, but it was possible that it was starting to get better. 

Peter hoped it was. Especially after the whole kanima thing and what happened afterward. Peter did not support Derek's decision. He has made it clear that he is rather disappointed with his nephew on that front. He understands Derek's view, honestly he does, but Peter _believed_ he was wrong. He believed Stiles. It wasn't just how the boy looked, bruised face and split lip and eyebrow, but because of his words. They were like pleas, filled with a sadness that Peter couldn't be sure was real. Peter could smell the hurt and pain from the boy. He also smelled blood that night. Which was odd. He couldn't see if Stiles was bleeding or not, but he also couldn't deduce what from. Peter supposed he should have stuck around to find out, but he doubted the boy wanted to speak to him. Peter wouldn't blame him for not speaking to anyone in the pack.

Peter had followed Derek as he stormed off, wanting to yell at him, ask where his head was at. A lot of good that had done that night...or all the months since.

"Did he seem different to you," Derek had asked suddenly, still leaning against the window, his eyes on the concrete floor. Peter was not surprised at the mention of it. It was true he had noticed and would not deny it, but he was pleasantly glad to know that Derek had. Peter had always been observant. It's what helped him to not be surprised by a lot of things. It's helped make calculated decisions, kept him alive. Peter has noticed many things, uncovered details that he has pursued so that he could understand better. Which is why the subject of Stiles' changes were not a far leap. Peter knew about those changes and rather recently has come to _really_ see them.

"Meaning?" Peter asked as he sat back on the couch, clasping his hands in his lap, as he looked at his nephew pretending to be ignorant.

"He looked different," Derek began unsure. "He seemed like...controlled." That was an interesting word to use.

He thought about it and he could see Derek's point. Peter had noticed a change. Stiles was anything but controlled, stoic, or rigid during anything situation. So to see the teenager remain still and calm, it was like the world had turned on it's head. For as long as Peter had known of the boy, he was always in motion, always thinking, twitching in some way. During their latest encounter, he was the opposite.

Peter hid any reaction to that statement. He shrugged his lips instead. "Perhaps."

"Like he didn't move much at all," Derek spoke, his voice going a little quiet as his mind churned with thought. His brow furrowed. "He always flails about, rambles on, and he was...so calm. The entire time, his heart never faltered or sped up. Not once."

"I hadn't noticed."

That was a lie. Peter had noticed. How could he not? Derek was right. Stiles was different. Only Peter could guess why, but those weren't thoughts he was going to voice.

Peter was no fool. His knack for questioning and then uncovering things, whether by technological means or stealthy means were quite handy at times. Peter was nothing if not nosy. He didn't like having questions unanswered, at least not on subjects he was curious on. Peter had noticed a change in Stiles. His lack of movement and twitching was one thing, but Peter saw other things. Derek's statement of his heart was also true. Usually Peter heard it like a constant thumping, a little faster than everyone else's and fluttering in tense situations. The teenager's scent was more intriguing. His chemosignals never changed or faltered once during their conversation. Sure he smelled a little annoyed or irritated, but otherwise all Peter got was...resignation. Underneath was what made up Stiles' scent. The warming scents of vanilla and maple wood combined into an earthly smell that was rather pleasant. Overall, it was a intriguing as well as alarming.

"It was unlike him," Derek said not noticing Peter's lack of input for a bit. "He was different. He looked different."

"Well his hair was longer."

Derek growled with a slight flash of his eyes. "Don't patronize me Peter."

"Look I'll admit," Peter began calmly, "that maybe Stiles was a little more tight lipped than usual, but so what? Is that really so bothersome?" Peter had to admit that it was nice change of pace for once. It kept things interesting.

"He didn't fidget. His heart was steady and he talked like he was..."

"Uncaring," Peter supported. That may not be the best words choice, but it was the only one he could think of on the spot.

"I guess. I'm not sure why though."

Peter nearly rolled his eyes at his nephew's idiocy. He may love his nephew, more so now being that they are the only family they have left, and that he was now thinking with _less_ psychotic tendencies, but still, the man was acting oblivious. Maybe he really didn't know? 

But then this was too much fun for Peter so he was going to roll with it for a bit. He was going to do what he did best and be the sarcastic, annoyingly nosy uncle. "Is all of this stemming from the way Stiles challenged you?"

"What," Derek asked looking up now.

"Oh come on nephew. No one else may have noticed, but I did," Peter teased with a sly grin. 

"He didn't...Stiles did not-"

This was too good. He liked needling Derek, but he didn't expect this reaction. Derek was bright enough to know all of this, yet it seemed to set him back a bit. Seeing the younger man stand up straighter, his eyebrows dancing between incredulity and bemusement. His cheeks and ears turning a light pink as he thought it through. Peter wanted to take pity on him, but this was too much fun.

"Use your head nephew," he said with a smirk, raising his eyebrows. "He did. Whether consciously or not, Stiles did. During your little staring contest. Who looked away first? Also the way he spoke to you, nearly reprimanding. I have to say it was a joy to watch."

Derek growled. "Careful Peter."

"Hey, I am just saying." He raised a hand, placating. "I know where the fun is. You and I both know that Stiles doesn't back off easily and it is not the first time he has stood up to you."

Peter would say it is not the first time he has not stood up to a lot of things that many wouldn't dare to. Stiles was courageous, possibly a bit foolish, but he makes up for it with his brain. One thing Peter noticed when he first met Stiles-aside from his motormouth and his inability to stay still-was that he was loyal. Loyal to those he cared for and would go out of his way to protect others. Peter saw that much when he bit Lydia and kidnapped Stiles. It was the teen's wish that the girl get help first, nothing else. He wouldn't budge on that one request. He stood up to Peter that night on the lacrosse field. Prepared to protect Lydia, even at the cost of his own life, if it meant she would be safe or provide her just a bit longer to live. 

The boy has no sense of self-preservation, that much was clear. Peter couldn't determine that night if the boy was stupid or brave, or maybe both in the face of danger. Despite Peter being a murderous Alpha, he stood his ground against him. The older man had admired that about the boy, something he was pleasantly surprised about, even then.

"No it is not," Derek said finally.

Derek moved away from the window. Coming forward to lean on the back of the desk chair, branding his forearms on the top, his hands hanging loosely in the air. His eye were back to looking like he was seeing far away, his brows still furrowed. Seriously the man was going to get wrinkles before he hits 35 if that keeps up. "Did he seem avoidant of Scott? Angry with him?"

Peter shrugged. In all honesty, he hadn't noticed. He didn't pay much attention to Scott, keeping an eye on Stiles. His thoughts, during a good portion of the conversation, were going over what he knew. He had to say it was a nice surprise to see Stiles, despite the less than nice circumstances. Peter wished Stiles was around more, to at least be able to pick that brain of his. "Maybe, but I couldn't smell that from him. All I could smell was vanilla and woodsy maple from him. It was rather pleasant now that I think about it." Derek half growled half groaned. Peter cracked a crooked smile. "If he was, then perhaps it was because Scott was here, especially after you accused him of helping Scott with Gerard. Stiles had stayed away all summer. I can suspect he was surprised that Scott was allowed here, with take out, and he was not."

"You think he was jealous," the younger man asked, looking up with something akin to confused guilt in his eyes.

Peter looked at his nephew hard, not breaking his eyesight with him. Peter was trying to get him to see how stupidly long this has been going on for. "I think he was upset. That you would extend the courtesy of pardoning to Scott and not him."

Derek's eyebrows shot up at that. "I have not pardoned Scott. He is here to help with Erica and Boyd only, nothing more. Stiles is doing the same but from afar. That is his choice."

"You forced that choice," Peter bit out. "He didn't have to help with that either, but he is."

"I am not arguing about this again Peter," Derek said in frustration, turning away from the older wolf to look out the window again. "Stiles is not pack, neither is Scott at this point. What they did, I can't forget. Maybe one day forgive, but never forget. I can't trust them. Not with my pack. I will not make the same mistake again.”

"That mistake was different and you know it,” Peter said not unkindly, almost gently. “Not everyone is like her. Not everyone is like an Argent.”

Deep down Derek had to know that. Peter did, even though he would never trust any hunter. But what that woman did, what she did to Derek, it went deeper than what was on the surface. Peter had always suspected that and learned more about it before he killed her. No, Peter could not find it in his hard of hearts to blame Derek, not for when he was so young. He couldn’t deny that he hadn’t blamed him once, thought the worst of him, only to learn the truth years later. Peter supposed he should be angry or enraged that Derek and Laura had abandoned him, left to give to New York for years. He was, for the longest time he was furious and wanted to scream out in rage and pain. Slice his claws into anything. And he did.

After years of near insanity, trapped in his mind, filled with pain and sorrow and an all consuming anger, he snapped. Finally able to break free just s little. Finally able to run and charge at anything that moved. Nothing but prey to him, things to take his emotions out on. In his crazed mind, he saw nothing but red. He didn’t hold back. Not even from his own niece.

After all of that, after getting his mind back into mostly working order, he went right back to the pain and great sorrow he will never be able to escape from. Look at what he had become.

So Peter asked himself everyday since, ever since learning the truth...what does one say to a couple of kids, forced to grow up so fast, losing all that they hold dear, and with one member of family left comatose, with possibly no hope of returning?

Derek had to know that despite everything Peter had done, he didn’t need to forgive him. There was nothing to forgive. Still...Peter could not find a way to tell Derek that. He was never good with emotional words. Not from himself. How could he ask Derek to lay himself raw and bare when Peter couldn’t do the same?

"I am not willing to take that chance. I won't survive if I do." Derek had said more to himself than to Peter. This discussion had not ended the way Peter wanted, he had his work cut out for him. They all do.

 

*** * * * * * ***

Having gotten back to his house later that night, he made dinner for himself, Danny and Lydia. He quickly changed clothes after a shower, then put the remaining two feathers from the winged-creature on his desk to try and identify later. If he couldn't then he would make a visit to Deaton tomorrow morning. He had a just barely finished making a chicken parmesan with a side salad, while Luna hovered around him, hoping to get a drop of chicken or sauce she could lick at, when his friend's strode in. He nearly sighed a heavy sigh of relief and relaxation at seeing their faces. He hadn't noticed how tense he was after the meeting with the pack, but he chose to ignore it obviously. If the other two teenagers noticed his distance then they kept it quiet for the moment.

He mentioned nothing to them about what happened with Isaac or the pack. Although he should have counted on Lydia hearing all about it from Jackson. Then he had to spend almost thirty minutes telling them everything that had happened, skipping over the reason he was actually in the woods to begin with, not mention Chris at all, telling the same lie he told the pack. He didn't know what all Lydia was told, but he knew she was surveying him like a hawk.

Then he had to spend another twenty minutes listening to the both of them bicker at him, both agitated and angry that he didn't bother to mention any of this. Lydia more for finding out from Jackson, knowing that she wasn't there to witness all of it, but having noticed that Stiles wasn't going to share about it. Danny was more enraged that he had blatantly left him out of it, having just now found out about it and might not have if Lydia didn't mention it, then telling him he was beyond lucky that he didn't get hurt and that Danny wished he could have been there for him.

Stiles was thankful Danny didn't press that fact in further, telling him how he wanted to be there for Stiles because of what the pack did, what Scott did, and so on. Stiles knew it was implied though. Danny didn't mention it out of curtsy to Lydia also, who was still part of the pack. Stiles didn't want her to get in trouble with fraternizing with the enemy, but they all knew that Lydia did what she wanted so it was best left unsaid.

In the end, he had to apologize to them both, more to Danny since he was more hurt about it. After the tension had dissipated, they went back to their meal, talking about the creature, throwing out ideas. Lydia was still getting used to Danny knowing about the supernatural, also _being_ supernatural in a way. She saw him in a new light and Stiles hoped there was no bad waters between them. After all, Danny was Lydia's friend first and he had kept this all from her just as much as Jackson had. Only Danny had been doing it for his whole life.

Stiles reminded himself that he needed to talk to both of them individually. Ever since he woke up, he had not actually talked to them, one on one. He heard nearly everything they said when he was asleep. His mind only letting him hear, but his body too exhausted and spent to allow him to move or open his eyes. Even as groggy as he was and dehydrated, he still caught a few pieces of their conversation, just as he did with Danny and his dad.

He wanted to talk to Lydia about what she thought of all this. He wanted ask her about being a Banshee, which he looked up the other day, so he knew a bit about it anyway. He just wanted to hear it from her. Stiles could see she was struggling to understand just like he was about what she was, so he felt like she needed someone to talk to. He had been there, been a part of that. He helped Scott through it when he first turned, he managed himself after he learned about his magic and had help from Danny. Lydia deserved someone to help her as well. He had no doubt that she had milked as much as she could from Deaton, but there was more than just knowledge. There were feelings too, and let's face it, Deaton was as stoic and statuesque as Derek was a lot of the time. The difference was that Derek got angry and growly, where Deaton hardly changed. It was infuriating.

He also wanted to talk to Danny. Talk to him about what he has been hiding from Stiles. Stiles was not foolish to think that he, himself was truthful on things, but he needed to have a heart to heart with Danny. He heard what Danny said about his parents. How they just left him? Then there was the whole thing the boy spoke to his dad about when it came to his magic. Danny's magic was different. It didn't come from him, not his mind, his emotions or from inside him. It was just directed by himself, but it originates from other sources. Stiles never knew that was possible. He made a mental note to ask Deaton about channeling magic in hopes of understanding better, but he didn't know if he should. With what Danny said about how the supernatural community sees witches like Danny, Hedge witches, they are not friendly. A few times Stiles witnessed the unspoken tension between the boy and the druid, he just never understood why. He thought there was a past of some sort, even more so after finding out that Danny knew about the paranormal, but he didn't imagine this. He was going to have a long chat with Danny and he wanted to make it soon.

The whole dinner, they talked. Stiles filling them in on the winged-creature. They through out ideas, giving out points of their knowledge and seeing if it might prove beneficial. Stiles gave his a small piece of chicken to Luna who whined at the attention and ate the piece wholeheartedly, then coming back for more, licking her chops. He chuckled at her antics, patting her on the head as she sat beside his chair. The German Shepherd barely left his side since he woke up. Any time he was home, she was there, hovering nearby, curling up beside him on the couch or on his bed. He didn't mind. In fact he wanted to keep that. He wondered when his dad would take her away and back to the station again. She was only supposed to be here temporarily, until she healed and they eased her back into work, but it had been over a month now since the wraiths. Why was she still here?

He was not complaining, but he feared when the day would come. He had gotten used to having her at home. He enjoyed it. He relished her attention and he loved petting her soft fur lazily, feeling her curl next to him when she napped or when he laid down to sleep. She didn't keep his nightmares away, but she did help to calm him down quicker. He didn't want her to leave. Maybe his dad would adopt her, maybe he could convince him. Stiles wanted to do that.

At the end, they cleaned up their dishes, Stiles packing them in the sink to deal with later. They headed to his room to show them the feathers, carefully instructing them to be careful of the barbed point and the fibers that might still have the coating of venom or poison on them. Together, they settled to do some research on the creature, taking what they knew and putting it into their findings. Danny searched online, looking up anything that could be valid, Lydia looked through the Argent bestiary she downloaded thanks to Allison, and Stiles first went through his mother's Grimoire. Closer to the end of the book, he actually found a picture, while a little archaic, it was actually rather similar to what he saw.

His interest peaked he read the descriptions of it, along with anything else his mother had learned about this creature. Turns out the more he read, the more he became convinced that this drawing and his creature were one in the same. The winged woman was a Harpy.

Turns out these beastly women were once sirens, corrupted by greedy desires. Sirens are different from mermaids, no tails or scales. They are creatures that hide in plain sight, in society. With voices like angels. They are a sub class of water nymphs, but they are rather docile, tricksters at best. Take pleasure in using their talents to get what they want, some going on to be famous singers, who knew Ariana Grande was a siren?!?

However with the first Harpies, they were twisted, their desires becoming too much and their greed out of control. They were cursed by a powerful witch, one scorned by one of the sirens who pushed it too far by seducing the witch's husband, bedding him and then driving him crazy when she disappeared, leaving her husband mad with a desire to hear her voice, ultimately committing suicide. Stiles read that when a siren sings privately, intimately to another, it becomes like a drug. If not properly cared for, often with magical means, it can become dangerous, often driving those poor souls to madness, with a desire to always hear that song and nothing else. They become dependent on it. The witch cursed them to become the winged-creatures that they are today. A mockery of what they once were. Once with voices that could put birds to shame, they are not cursed as the bird-like women who can't sing. Their voices no longer angelic, but now screeching and primal. It all reflects what they had become because of their greed. Ever since then, Harpies have maintained their line by breeding with their own kind. 

The feather's are like poisoned darts, meant to hinder prey, but not kill, which is what they like. They like eating prey alive. _Yuck_. The poison was in fact just a poison, meant to put humans and normal animals in a state of shock, slowing down their breathing and heart-rates, rendering them completely immobile and paralyzed. To supernatural creatures with enhanced healing, it just slows down their healing, often causes them minor discomfort and sometimes nausea and muscles spasms, depending on how much poison has gotten in their system.

With these findings, Stiles shows the others. He also texts Peter and Isaac, letting them both know what he found. He leaves out not having to go to Deaton for the information, but it is information nonetheless to them, so he doesn't care. Both men tell reply back with their thanks, Isaac telling him that he was on the mend and feeling better. Peter going further to say that he was glad for what Stiles did and that he was welcome to come back to the loft anytime.

Stiles was taken aback by that statement. It wasn't really Peter's decision to make, was it? Peter wasn't the alpha, Derek was. Did Derek say it was alright? Was Derek telling Peter to say that? Did Derek even know? Stiles would be the first in line to say that Peter was shady and often had an agenda for things, but he couldn't help but wonder what Peter's angle was in this. Not to mention the man thanked him. Peter never thanks anyone. At least not in the time he has known him or at least the short time before Stiles was cast out and even then it was in a couple meetings. Peter was a wild card at best. Stiles had to admit though, the man never actually got aggressive with him, not since he was all Grr I'm a Crazy Alpha, Hear Me Roar.

Also at the loft, Peter was, dare he say it, pleasant. The man seemed more focused on him than anything else. And Stiles thought he saw him smile at him. It wasn't creepy, but it did seem...maybe knowing.

Either way Stiles wasn't going to think about it all tonight. He found out what the creature-Harpy-was so his job was done for the night. So instead, he hung out with his friends. They watched a movie together in his room, Danny and Lydia ganging up on him that they watch Pride and Prejudice, Lydia's second favorite movie. Stiles wanted to watch something with action in it, but he settled for this. His mind was too busy thinking of other things anyway. Thoughts straying to the Harpy, then to his magic, to Danny and Lydia, to Erica and Boyd, to his nightmares and the Astral realm, pretty much everything he has had on his plate, slowly building up over the summer.

He wasn't going to get much sleep tonight, again. He supposed he should be used to it by now. His nightmares were no getting any better. So he was looking forward to pouring himself over research and his mother's Grimoire, hoping to study more of it since he hasn't been able to read all of it yet. He has merely skimmed through it so far. Right now, he allowed himself to bask in the carefree time with Lydia and Danny. Luna laying with him on his bed, with other two on the flooring against the bed, passing a bowl of popcorn to each other.

The feeling of contentment wasn't going to last. Stiles would take what he could. Tomorrow, he had to get started on emptying that plate of his.

 

*** * * * * * ***

Stiles carried the coffees in one hand, balancing them in the tray he had as he made his way to the station. He was nervous. Like beyond nervous. Not to mention there were other people around. Granted there were not many, but still.

He had sat in his Jeep for nearly 5 minutes, bucking up his courage to open the door to get out. He had been trying to give himself a pep talk all the way from the cafe, trying to think about what he could say. As he sat outside the station, seeing a few firemen and EMT going in and out of the building before opening its large garage doors to reveal three fire red engines and a two white emergency vehicles, he was trying to put words together about what he should say. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there or even if it would all be a waste of time. He didn’t even know if Ryan was there.

He could have found out. He could have spent his sleepless hours in the early morning, looking it up. After Danny and Lydia left last night when they finished their second movie, this one with blockbuster Zombies, he opted to start reading, only to get pulled into the land of darkness and dreams. He woke up four hours later, sweating and panting, shaking away the faces of his nightmares, the lingering words, with Luna whining beside him. Stiles didn't know if his dad was home then, but he decided to empty his mind with words from the books that was stacked on his nightstand. It was a good distraction and when he felt his eyes closing, he went downstairs downed half a can of pop, took an Advil for his spreading headache and then went back to it.

When the morning light started to come in, he took it as a blessing to start a new day and quickly got dressed to go meet Chris in the Preserve. After a couple hours of training, where the man put him through drills and exercises, he felt better. He felt more settled. His magic didn't feel like it was ready to push out of his skin to protect him from something unseen. Chris was rather quiet through most of the morning, but then the man was not much for words anyway and Stiles wasn't in the mood to talk. He wanted to shake off the residual nightmare and pour out his frustration and pent up energy into what he was doing. When he was done, he told Chris by and headed out.

That left him with time to think about what to do next. He wanted to go over to Danny's and talk to him, also the same with Lydia. Hell he even wanted to go check on Isaac although, he was assured by the boy he was going to be fine. Instead, he thought about something else he needed to do first. Something he had forgotten about, through no fault of his own, that he wanted to make up for. So yeah, he might have spent a bit of time, sitting in his jeep after leaving the nearby coffee shop, looking at the building, biting his nails. But this was in no way creepy. Besides this was just an apology he was doing. There was nothing wrong with that. He was just going to say sorry, to the guy. The handsome guy with the soft brown hair and jeweled blue eyes. Dammit! 

He hadn’t even been out with the guy yet. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to be. It wasn’t sure how to feel yet. Sure Ryan seemed like a nice guy but he was still a stranger to him. He had told himself all of this already. Was this not how things went? Strangers getting together to talk and spend time together and see where it lead?

Stiles didn’t know how to approach all of this. He was sixteen, a kid, despite what he wanted to argue. He was a hyper-active kid and had virtually no standing on the social ladder up until the past year. He was new to all of this. Was last Friday even supposed to be a date? Was it a meeting between possible friends? He was beginning to lose his nerve.

It wasn’t until he saw Ryan, the softly tanned face, chocolate brown hair, strong shoulders coming out of the garage carrying a hose and bucket as one of the white ambulance vehicles came out of the building. Three other people followed, the ones that Stiles recognized from his last meeting with Ryan, his coworkers, carrying buckets and brushes, as two fire engines were pulled out of the. They were goin to wash the vehicles.

Gathering all the courage he had, swallowing his insecurities, he got out of the Jeep. He couldn’t fret over this if he wasn’t sure where he stood right? It wasn’t like he was cheating on anybody? What did he have to lose?

He tried not to stumble as he made his way across the pavement of the parking lot. He crossed rather quickly but as he got closer, he was slowing down. His insecurities and uncertainty coming back to him. Ryan didn’t see him. His back to him as he filling up the large bucket with water, letting the soaping suds rise. The ones who did see him were his coworkers. The girl he saw before, with the dark hair, was smiling just a little, trying hard to be inconspicuous. The two men were looking with equal parts amusement and curiosity. 

When he got close enough to Ryan, the man still not seeing him behind him, he cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. He didn’t know what to say or what to do in this moment. It was clear the people watching him were waiting, waiting to see what Ryan would do or what Stiles would do. When was Stiles life turning into a soap opera?

Should he talk? Should he turn the man around? Turns out his mouth had an agenda of it’s own. “I brought coffee.”

_Really! Like really!? Fuck me and fuck my life._

Ryan turned around quickly, nearly spraying Stiles with the hose. Stiles moved back quickly, his shoes catching a little of the spray, but it was fine otherwise. The look in Ryan’s face was one of surprises, his dark eyebrows high and his bright eyes stunned. His mouth parted as he took in Stiles standing before him, holding the two coffees in the carrier. After a few moments Stiles was afraid he broke Ryan or that he was going to turn him down. 

It wouldn’t be a shocker. Stiles did stand him up even if he did have a reason he wouldn’t blame the guy for feeling like Stiles wasn’t interested. 

Was Stiles interested? Stiles wasn’t sure how to feel about all of this, but he was sure that he wanted to make it up to the guy. And maybe...with time...they could see where they stood.

Ryan seemed to take it in stride as he put down the hose to walk up to Stiles, a small smile on his lips. His sapphire eye on him as he took a cup and took a drink. ”Not bad,” he said after a gulp. “For not knowing what I like you made a good choice.”

Stiles shrugged. “You can’t go wrong a caramel macchiato. That why I got two.”

Ryan nodded an affirmative and took another drink. “Thanks.”

”I’m sorry,” Stiles began. “I know I missed the other Friday and that it’s been almost two weeks since. I would have called but we never exchanged numbers.”

”Yeah that was my first mistake when I was waiting for you," the man said rubbing his hair, making the soft strands stand up just a little more. "I had no way of reaching out to you. It probably was for the best.” At Stiles slightly dubious look, he pressed forward quickly, “That I didn’t call. I didn’t want to seem desperate or anything or too pushy. You were obviously busy.”

"That’s not it."

Now Ryan looked a little crestfallen. "You weren’t busy?”

"Yes, no that’s not it." Stiles was losing ground here. He was trying to think about what to say, although his tongue was getting away from him. "I was at home and a friend was there."

"You were busy with a friend," Ryan's eyebrows pinched together, looking confused, before they shot up his forehead and then he looked down quickly. "I’m not sure about I want to know-"

Stiles flailed his available hand, careful to not spill his coffee. "No no it’s not that. _Jesus._ Look I was in the hospital.” At Ryan’s wide eyes he went on slowly, finally feeling like he had something to build on. “It wasn’t me it was my dad. He hadn’t been feeling well and I came home Thursday and found him in bed with a fever. I took him to the hospital and he passed out in the car. The doctor said he was dehydrated and had a lack of iron along with elevated cholesterol. His job is not helping much. What with it it all since the murders and everything. So I stayed to help him. I guess in the chaos I just forgot about it. I know it’s not a good excuse, but I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to not reach out so late. And I-“

"Hey hey it’s okay,” Ryan said gently stilling Stiles from rambling on. “It’s okay. I understand."

"But I-" Stiles hadn’t felt like it should be that easy. When was it ever that easy? Usually he had to go round and round with his dad for hours before his dad had had enough and either called him out on his bullshit or let it go entirely. This quick was near impossible and never happened. 

In all honesty it wasn’t a total lie. Someone was sick in a way, he just didn’t mention it was him and that it was more of magical supernatural kind of thing that made him go unconscious for a week. And his dad did have high cholesterol although the man would deny it just to eat as much bacon and steak as he could. And it was true his no never allowed him time to eat better meals or have amble time to rest. _So...see total truths in their too!_

”It’s fine. Honestly, I’m kind of relieved.”

"what," Stiles asked in confusion, a part of him unsure that he should have come.

Ryan shrugged. "Well I was really nervous Friday. I didn’t know what to expect or anything. So when you didn’t show up I was disappointed but kind of glad. I figured I would get up the courage and feel less shaky about it later, that is if you were interested at all. I’m just not sure."

"Ryan I’m sorry," Stiles felt guilty all over again. He really didn't mean to forget or for the whole magical debacle. He didn't like the image of Ryan sitting at a table by himself, waiting for Stiles to walk through the door, looking up every so often to see if he had arrived. "I never meant to forget. It wasn’t my intention. I came here to say that it was not you."

"That sounds an awful lot like a break up. Were we together and I didn’t but know it?" Ryan had asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What? No! No. Wow yeah that was poor wording on my part," he stammered.

Ryan gave a small smile, taking another swig of his coffee, licking lips before speaking again, "Yeah because I gotta say a relationship with you has got to be more exciting than a missed coffee date.

Stiles knew that Ryan was teasing, joking rather, but he couldn't stop himself from asking, feeling his nerves start to flutter in his gut again. "Date?"

"Uhh...well...um only if you...you know, wanted to...I mean."

Ryan was positively stumbling over his words by that point. It made Stiles want to grin. Not because he thought Ryan was being pushy or insinuating things, hell there was a small part of him that liked that, but this was because Ryan looked adorable for it. Also because Stiles wanted to pat himself on the back for turning the teasing around a little. Ryan's lightly tanned skin looked a little darker with the rosy pink that was creeping up into his cheeks and ears, also spreading into his neck. Ryan kept his eyes down, slightly wide like he was stunned at his words or thoughts. Stiles understood those feelings, those self-deprecating thoughts that pretty much stemmed from his own uncertainty, his own annoyance at himself from rambling on and then getting lost in his own head that words became to slow to keep up.

Stiles found himself smiling, seeing how Ryan was a kindred spirit in that regard.

He laughed softly, taking a drink from his own cup. "It's okay. You wouldn't be wrong." Stiles might be milking this a little, but in honesty, it was true. His life of werewolves, magic, and any other supernatural creatures was pretty exciting, if he allowed himself to stop and think about it long enough. Before, being just a high school student was rather tedious, boring, and predictable. He barely remembered what it was like to be...normal. "I have an exciting life. I do things that are fun and spontaneous, gets the blood pumping." Yup, now he was laying it on thick. "You know at least in part."

Ryan laughed, the sound warm and easy. "Call me interested then."

Stiles smiled. "I didn't know if you would be here," he said gesturing to the firehouse. 

Ryan nodded. "Most of the week. I work twelve hours shifts four days a week, then I have my other work."

"What else do you do?"

"I work part time at the local coffee shop. Being an EMT doesn't pay for everything," he says with a wry smile.

Stiles looks at the coffee cup in Ryan's hand then in his own. He feels his eyebrows go up and weird tingling sensation his stomach. "Please don't tell me you work at the coffee shop I bought these at. The one we met in."

Ryan shrugs, but doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. It's already implied and the way his sapphire eyes seem to hold a glint in them and the slight twitch of his lips.

Stiles scoffs. "No way."

"It's a good side job for now," Ryan says around his cup. "Not to mention it helps make new relationships."

It was Stiles turn to blush. Stiles couldn't argue with that. He hadn't gone to that shop very much before. He always found it out of his way of the usual places he was going. The only reason he had been picking it this time was because the firehouse was closer to it than the one he usually went to. He didn't think that going to another random coffee shop in town would wind up him getting to know someone. Especially not someone like Ryan. 

I mean come on, the dude is hot!

Stiles was okay with that. More than okay with it. It made him wonder about a couple things. Like if this could be the start of something good. Would that be such a bad thing? Did he not deserve some bit of good in his life? Did all the things he has gone through not warrant him to be happy in some way?

"Well who could argue with that," Stiles eventually says sheepishly.

They talked for a while longer. It couldn't be to long because Ryan was on the clock. They had moved a little bit further away from the vehicles being wash. Avoiding the spray and somewhat prying ears. They couldn't talk about everything they wanted to, but Stiles okay with that. For a first get together, as unplanned as it was, more to make up from Stiles not showing up for their first official meet, he found that he wanted to talk to Ryan more. He still was wary about him, that coming from his history of the supernatural, of waiting for the other shoe to drop, of not being comfortable with being touched by anyone he knew actually cared for him. It would take more time for him to be able to let his guard down. The talking helped though. It helped to distract Stiles as well as learn about Ryan, understand him a little better. If that meant he was watching his facial cues, his movements, and listening to his tone changes a little more, then call him guilty.

They talked for a good fifteen minutes, all while Ryan's coworkers were getting sudsy and washing the large red and white trucks. They talked about nothing, just more introductions. Making up for what they could have talked about if Stiles had met him two Friday's ago. If Stiles' magic hadn't transported his mind to another dimension.

So this was their way of seeing if they could click. If they could find common grounds, a couple likes or dislikes. See if they liked what the other had to say all while sipping on their coffees as they talked. Stiles knew he was being interviewed as much as Ryan was and he was okay with that. The topics were easy, things that everyone practically knew about him. Sheriff's kid, hyper-active, likes comics and games, research fanatic about whatever topics suits his fancy (he doesn't mention the supernatural aspects of that). He talks about his dad a bit and Ryan in return talks about his family. Having a younger sister Stiles' age, away at college across the country. His family lives in California. He is still taking classes in college, wanting to work in physical therapy and is slowing building towards completing his doctorates in another two years.

The whole time, Stiles finds this rather easy and he slowly relaxes a bit more. He started to think that his insecurities earlier were a bit much, but who could blame him really? At the end of their short time together, Stiles feels rather light. Almost buzzing with happiness. Even his magic is swirling inside him with contentment. When Ryan indicates that he has to get back before the chief comes out, Stiles nods in understanding, with only a little bit of disappointment.

Before Ryan goes, Stiles gets up the courage to say something before he changes his mind and overthinks it, "Wait, give me your phone."

Wordlessly Ryan hands it over, raising an eyebrow. Stiles is quick to add his number to Ryan's contacts and then hands it back. "Now you know how to reach me. So you are not waiting around again."

Ryan smiles warmly, his bright eyes shining in the sun. "Does that mean you would...want to try again?"

Stiles could see the uncertainty in the other man's eyes. It made him feel better, knowing that Ryan was just as unsure or nervous as him. He nodded his slowly. "I would yeah."

The warm smile brightens even more if it's possible. Showing white teeth and crinkles near those brilliant eyes. Ryan ducked his head as another blush surged into his ears. It didn't last long as Ryan's name was called from one of his co-workers, the woman , waving him over, mouthing quietly to hurry up. When the man looked back at Stiles he seemed apologetic.

"Go on," Stiles says with feigned sarcasm. "You heard her. Don't start slacking now."

Ryan chuckles but nods. "See ya around."

Stiles watches for a moment as the man turns and leaves, carrying his cup of coffee with him, that was most likely empty by now. Stiles headed back to his jeep, feeling a bit giddy at the idea of seeing Ryan again. It might be stupid that he could feel this way, so quickly, but he wasn't naive. He didn't trust Ryan. Far from it actually. He didn't know what Ryan saw in him, why Stiles of all people had interested him enough to want to go out with him, give him a second chance. In fact the unknown was one reason why he didn't trust Ryan. But it didn't mean that the man's company was not a nice change. Stiles had gotten used to Danny and his dad being around. Hell he even got used to Chris Argent being more in his life. So this could be a nice change for him. A step back, away from the chaos that his life was becoming.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out to look he found a text message from an unknown number.  **Thanks for the coffee :)**

Stiles smiled to himself, saving Ryan's number before putting his jeep in drive. Yeah, he could use a little step back.

 


	17. A Trusted Leap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! It's a little late, but I couldn't find a good stopping point! Lol I loved writing this chapter and I know it's long, but there is a good reason for it. I hope you like and as always I THANK YOU ALL for your LOVE and SUPPORT! Next chapter I can give you a little peak that the pack will definitely be coming together again. Not all mind you, but most. And so will a few choice villains. :) ;) Hope you like the chapter as tell me what you think!

Stiles went out to the woods, searching for the Nemeton. This was starting to become a routine to him. Well to be fair he has only done this three times now, but he has tried to do it daily. He has a map of the Preserve in his glove compartment in his jeep, marking off areas he has searched or at least what he hoped he searched. He wasn't very good at marking how far he walked, but it didn't deter him from trying. Three times and he hasn't found what he is looking for. Three times he has searched, using his eyes and ears to look for that blasted tree stump and got nothing. He even used his magic, letting it out just a little, surrounding him in a vale of invisible waves, letting it see if it would react to anything.

All of it proving to result in failure. He was getting frustrated. Stiles wanted to find that tree, hoping it would give him the strength or state of mind necessary to perform the spell to find Erica and Boyd.

Stiles was running out of options. He had really no other places to look for the betas. Unless he went to every building possible in the entire town, houses included, he was running low of possible leads. A part of him wanted to look through every structure in town, but it would be a bad idea and take far too long. He was getting more and more anxious with each passing day, each passing week. School was starting soon and he dared not think about seeing an empty desk or desks where Erica or Boyd should be. He prayed they were not dead. He prayed they he would get the chance to talk to them again. Tell them how sorry he was. How sorry he was that it took so long to find them.

Having spent nearly four hours in the woods, now early evening, he gave up and turned back the way he came. He was careful to walk in a straight line. Never veering off the trail he inevitably made. Stiles thought it would have been better to come with someone else like Danny, but he didn't want to inconvenience him. Plus Danny had a life of his own. Stiles couldn't tear him away from other friends or his job so he could baby sit Stiles. Stiles knew that would be the main reason Danny would come. So he could keep an eye on Stiles. He knew the other boy would have his back if needed, but Stiles could take care of himself. He was learning every day. Ever since coming back from his detour trip in the Astral realm, he was practicing more with his magic. Often in secret.

There were some things he went along with when it came to Deaton, but Stiles knew the man wanted him to study magic first, but actually executing it. There was also a little bit of uncertainty he could feel from Deaton. Having learned that he was a mage, the man seemed to be a little timid about his lessons. He gave Stiles more books, but never really practiced with him. Only a couple spells, more inclined on feels and expanding. The glamour spell is one thing (the one he used after the Harpy) that Deaton introduced him to, although he did advice Stiles to read up on glamours and concealment charms before actually doing one.

Also after the Harpy had been dealt with, it had been quiet. Nothing else had come through his wards and he was both thankful and antsy about it. He was waiting for the inevitable. He was waiting, listening, feeling with his magic to see if anything burst through, heading to town. He hated waiting, but then he should also count his blessings that it had been quiet. However, quiet and chaos came in different forms. More than a few times a day he would get texts from the pack. Mostly it was from two people. Isaac and Scott, but still.

Stiles ignored them at first, well mostly he ignored Scott's. The young werewolf asking him how he was or if he had anymore ideas about looking for the two missing betas. He even texted him about a pack meeting coming up later in the week. Stiles didn't know what to say to that, even if he was going to answer Scott. Isaac, however, was asking about him. Asking him how he was, thanking him again for saving his hide, saying how cool it was that a Harpy was real even one tried to kill him, just talking in general. Stiles tried to ignore those messages too, but found himself texting back a couple things here and there. His answers were more on the vague side, but they were still answers. Isaac took those as invitation to text him more on a few things, mentioning what the pack was doing, what Peter seemed to be up to (something shady probably), how many places they have searched for Erica and Boyd. Stiles wasn't sure what to make of their little conversations or why Isaac thought he should text Stiles at all. If it was some need to repay Stiles for helping him, then Stiles didn't want it. He didn't ask for gratitude or repayment, he just...couldn't let Isaac get hurt if he had the power to do something.

Stiles threw himself into his Jeep when he got back, turning it on to turn it straight to towards home. The whole time the radio was on, providing a distraction for his thoughts. Instead listening to the mixture of pop and hip hop music in the cabin. He felt his body starting to relax when he turned on his street. That went out the window when he saw a familiar car in his driveway. One that wasn't his dad's or Danny's. It was Lydia's.

He saw her sitting on his front step, waiting for him. As he finished parking and locking up the vehicle before heading towards her, he felt his relaxing mood shift to one of hesitancy and one of dread. Was she here because of the pack? She hadn't texted him to let him know about anything today, so what gives?

"Hi," she said as he got close enough.

"Have you been waiting out here long," he asked, unable to think that he might have missed a call or forgotten that they planned on her being here and he had kept her waiting for hours. 

She shook her head. "No," she said calmly. "I just wanted to stop by since I was in the neighborhood."

"U huh," Stiles said hesitantly. This was different he had to admit. This was the first time Lydia came over just because and without Danny coming over with her or not already here.

She gave him a pointed look before getting up, wiping off her designer jeans. "Now that you are here, are we going to go in or do you want to hang out here?"

Stiles sighed, not bothering to object to her. He fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door to let them in. She went past him to the living room, dumping her purse on the couch before sitting down. He supposed it shouldn't be a surprise, Lydia making herself at home, but excuse him for not being used to the sight. Her strawberry hair was in waves around her shoulders, complimented by the pale pink top she wore and the soft blue cardigan that was the same color as her jeans. As pristine and put together as always. 

"Why are you really here," he asked Lydia gently. He may still be getting used to Lydia and him being friends, but he was quite proud of it if he was being honest. He had come to terms of Lydia and him never being more than friends and he was fine with that. His younger self probably wouldn't be, but Stiles has had plenty of time to reflect on that. So when Lydia was here suddenly, with no word, sitting quietly, he knew something was bothering her.

She seemed to notice this too, knowing she couldn't hide herself as well as she used to from him. He could see the moment her shoulders slumped just a little and her expression went a grim. When she spoke, her voice was sounded strangled, "I had another nightmare last night."

That got his attention. He knew enough about her being a Banshee that her nightmares were not something to dismiss, even if that is all they were. He also knew that she was just a girl and his friend. If she was willing to talk about it to him, whether because he understood or because she thought he was the only one to offer comfort, he was going to do that for her. 

"Bad?" He had asked, sitting on the table across from her.

She shook her head. "No more than usual. The same tree, the Nemeton. There were other things. Red eyes, amber ones, and what looked like white ones."

"White eyes," he repeated.

"Yeah. They seemed to glow like the others. It was just a flash of them, but that's all I got from them. The Nemeton was still bleeding. Pooling around its roots."

Stiles suppressed a shiver at the imagery. "I'm not sure what to make of all of this. I can't help feeling that the Nemeton is the key to understanding at least some of this."

"Any luck trying to find it," she asked hopefully, her green eyes curious.

He shook his head. "That's where I just was. Out in the Preserve trying to see if my most recent path was of any luck. There was nothing. If the Nemeton really does had a way of hiding itself from others, then it was doing all it can to conceal itself from me as well."

She sighed heavily, obviously feeling as exasperated he was. He knew the frustration of not having answers like she did. That was something they both shared recently. They were both walking blind half the time. Her with her Banshee powers and dreams and him with his magic and his attempts at finding the magical tree and Erica and Boyd. Nothing seemed to be going their way and it seemed to leave them with more questions as time went on. The more they tried to make a step forward it was like something was preventing them.

"Alright," Lydia said clasping her hands together. "You go upstairs and take a shower, because your kind of smell like sweat and dirt, and I am going to order Chinese for us. We can stay in a watch Face-Off and not think about anything supernatural. What do you say?"

Stiles snorted, but nodded his head instead. Getting up he went upstairs to follow her orders. He also wanted to get rid of the left over sweat that had gather on his skin from his trudging around outside in the heat for hours on end. Stepping into the hot spray of water, he took a deep breath, feeling the day wash off his skin, leaving behind a flush that he associate with relaxation. He scrubbed himself clean, the vanilla scent of his body wash filling his nose. He might have stood under the water longer than necessary, but he didn't care. He loved feeling the spray of the water on his muscles, letting it roll down his skin, soak his hair like a million fingers caressing his hair.

After deeming enough time had passed, he turned off the water and got out, wrapping a towel around his waist. When he came back in the room he quickly put on a fresh pair of boxers and his last pair of clean jeans, rummaging through his drawers to find a shirt. He had nothing comfortable nor anything that really fit anymore. All of his usual shirts were either on the floor or in the hamper. He had to do laundry.

He was taking shirts out of the drawers to either take to good will or to clean when he heard a gasp behind him. He turned around quickly to see Lydia standing in his doorway, her phone in her hand, signalling she just called the Chinese place a couple minutes away. He had temporarily forgotten she was downstairs and was keeping her waiting.

She was staring at him with wide eyes, her hands close to her mouth like she was on the verge of screaming and about to hold it in. Her eyes were not on his face, but on his body. He almost asked what was wrong, like if he had a big spider on him or something, before he realized why she was staring at him with dawning realization and sadness in her eyes. She saw the scars on his back and now she saw the ones on his front. The pale ones that dotted his skin, most on his back and not very long or deep. Except the one across his chest from right shoulder to left ribs and the one that crossed it, going from the side of his neck near his right ear to the just below his collarbone. The rest were pale lines scattered around his torso. Small and easily unnoticeable if your weren't aware of them. The others were another story. 

The pinkish pale ones, the angrier ones that looked raised and will always be seen just like the burn on his side. The ones from Gerard and Grant. Those he couldn’t hide and they were on display for Lydia to see.

She continued to stare at him until he had shrugged on a shirt, not bothering to do it quickly. What was the point anymore? Right now, Stiles didn’t want to continue fighting it. He didn’t want to put in the effort to hide it. He was tired. He was aching. And he was stretched so thin from the murders, to finding Erica and Boyd, the Nemeton, his nightmares, his lack of sleep due to those nightmares and the Astral projection thing, and...he just didn’t have it in him anymore to fight what was inevitable. He felt like he was going to snap like a rubber band. 

“Stiles what happened to you?" She had all but whispered.

He just shrugged a shoulder, going to sit on desk chair, feeling his body slouch as he looked at the floor. “I think you already know the answer to that question,” he said softly.

"Those marks are not from claws, at least not most of them. They are too smooth." She shook her head, her eyes still on his torso where his scars were now covered up. 

He didn't deny or confirm anything. He didn't trust himself to say anything. Lydia was smart, if she was going to crack a puzzle, she would do it her way, putting all the puzzle pieces together while her mind worked it out.

"That night...where you picked me up to help Jackson," she said, the look on her face now a little far away, like she was remembering that night. "Your had bruises, cuts on your face. I could see you were hurting, but when you said you got in a fight with the other lacrosse team I thought it couldn't be a far stretch. It wasn't that, was it? There was no _other team_ was there?"

Stiles swallowed, still not confirming or denying. Turns out he didn't really need to.

"Unless I am over analyzing all of this and they _are_ claw marks. You cannot say you have not been checked out all summer. You brought me into all of this and then suddenly you are no longer around," Lydia said gesturing to the room around them as a whole, to encompass everything that has been going on, herself included. "You say you don't want to be part of this and don't want to help the pack. You don't even talk to any of them, none of your friends. Danny is the only exception besides me and even then you were reluctant about it."

He just stared at her, ignoring the emotions bubbling up inside him. Her words were not against him, but just observances. It didn't mean that they didn't bring his own memories back to him.

"Tell me the truth." She had said almost reluctantly, somewhat struggling with the words. She now had tears in her eyes, the very beginning of her fears starting to show. She was afraid of any of his answers but she still wanted to know. She had to know. "Did...did the-" she swallowed trying to get the words out. "Did the pack do that to you? Did they hurt you?"

Stiles was caught off guard by that statement. He had thought she was going to guess about the hunters. Or that she was going to say that she knew about Derek kicking him out. But then with him not denying anything, it was obvious how she was led to that conclusion. 

"What," he said anyway. "No, no, no, no it wasn't them. It wasn't ever them. They never hurt me," he said earnestly trying to stop her from nearly breaking down at the thought of her friends, her pack having harmed him. However, it was only a partial lie. They had harmed him. Only it was more emotional than physical. He could weather the bruises and minor scrapes from their roughhousing that happened every now and then, but it was their words, their actions combined with those words that truly cut the deepest.

"But you are not denying that you got hurt." She said quickly. "Why don't they know? They have super senses. If I saw the hurt in your eyes not to mention the evidence on your face that night, then why didn't they. Why didn't Scott or Derek?"

Stiles flinched at their names. He didn't mean to, but he couldn't help it. Lydia saw the minor movement, her gaze zeroing in on his face.

"Stiles I know you are hiding something from me. I know you are hiding something about that night. Please just tell me because what I am imagining cannot be worse."

"Trust me," he said softly, sadly. "Your imagination might be the more tame version."

"Those are not claw marks, are they," she asked quietly. He found himself shaking his head against his better judgement and she seemed to relax just for a second before moving on to the next puzzle piece.

"Knives?"

He nodded.

"It was hunters." It wasn't a question, but more of a concluding statement. She didn't say the name of the one particular hunter who led his torture, but maybe he didn't have to. Either way, she had figured out what happened. Or at least a good portion of it.

"More or less," he said.

She looked like she was struggling for words for a few moments. It was the first time Stiles had really seen her look completely open and vulnerable, and like a normal teenage girl. Every other times she had to put on her facade, like nothing fazed her. She had to be the put together one, the one where all her shit was straight. She didn’t look like that now. She looked tired, sad, and her green eyes had a tinge if red around the edges like she had been getting over long hours of crying. She opened and closed her mouth several times, nothing coming out. Her eyes were glistening, but she held herself firm, refusing to fall apart. 

“I’m so sorry.”

"Lydia-"

"How could I be so stupid? How could I not see it," she said through the tears, rapidly gather in her eyes and a few spilling onto the apples of her cheeks.

"Because I-"

"To think that I had it so wrong," Lydia interrupted. "The signs were all there but I didn’t bother to stop and look at them. I didn’t stop and be a friend."

Stiles got up to walk up to her, bracing his hands on her shoulder, to get her to calm down, to look at him. "Lydia stop," he said gently, but firmly. "Don't blame yourself for what happened."

"Why don't the others know," she croaked, eyes wide. "Why didn't they notice that night?"

Wasn't that the question of the year. Stiles already knew the answer to that question. He had already accepted it for what it was. He knew Lydia wouldn't though. She would break just as quickly as glass. All Stiles could really do was shrug his shoulders, hoping to show an air of ignorance. "I...It had been a hectic night. My problems were not as important."

"Bullshit!" Lydia nearly spat, her face contorted to one of anger. "That is complete bullshit. If you think that you being hurt by a bunch of hunters was not a priority then I will slap you Stiles Stilinski! Why didn't they know, why didn't Scott?"

There was no getting out of this. Stiles didn't want to fight over something as meaningless as this. He had already come to accept it for what it was, why bother trying to hide it. Not to mention if he didn't tell her, she would probably go ask the pack for answers. Answers that they didn't have. That would no doubt lead to complication and Stiles had enough on his plate to worry about. One thing Lydia was, was persistent. "Because I haven't mentioned it okay," he said pinching the bridge of his nose and moving away from her. "I kept it from them and it wasn't like it was hard that night. No one noticed."

"You mean no one cared."

"That's not..." He stopped. He couldn't finish that sentence. His brain wouldn't let him. His body wouldn't let him. It was like every part of him vibrated with the thought of denying it all. His magic rising and falling inside him like waves going back and forth, conveying his up and down emotions. He was angry and bitter, but he was also sad and hurt. In truth, he had no way of denying that statement. He also didn't really have the desire to.

"See," she said with gesture of her hand towards him.

"I didn't say anything."

Lydia scoffed, her anger clear behind her watery eyes. "Exactly, you are not denying it either. So this is why you have not been around the pack. I don't get it. You're pack, you are human, you are supposed to be looked after."

"I am not pack," he said simply, not looking at her.

"What are you talking about?"

"I am not pack," he said slowly, willing her to understand. He was done hiding this from her. Hell he was done acting like it was something looming over his head like it was going to break him. "I have it on good authority."

She gazed at him with wide, shocked eyes before returning back to green orbs of anger. "Who? Who would say that to you. After everything. If Jackson is the one to say this, I will personally maim him with my nail file, but then since when do you care about what he says. Was it Peter? Isaac?" When Stiles just stares at her, unmoving, she puts the remaining piece together, watching as the longer he stayed quiet, the more he saw the dreaded recognition flash across her face. " _Derek?_ Derek said...you were not pack?"

Stiles shrugged, feeling a little numb at the conversation they were having. "Why would I be? I am just a human."

"You and I both know you are more than human."

"Which is something that has to stay between us and Danny," he said holding her gaze with his own. He met hers hard, silently pleading with her to keep this under raps. "Dad and Deaton also. No one else can know."

"No Stiles this is ridiculous, why does Derek think you aren't pack? What gives him the right to say that to you?"

He wanted this conversation over with. It was grinding on his nerves and his emotions were passing over a broad spectrum. As much as he felt like he was tired of hiding, he also felt like he didn't want to have it anymore. He just wanted it to be a thing of the past. However the fact that Lydia didn't know any of this, it made him realize the truth of why the pack still asked for his help. It made him realize why Isaac didn't seem to act very differently around him. Why Jackson and Lydia had come to talk and ask for his help in the first place. Why Lydia was asking these questions now. It made him realize that even Scott was clueless about this.

Derek had _never_ told them. He didn't tell the pack that Stiles was out of it. Derek hadn't mentioned what he did.

Stiles felt incredibly stunned at that recognition. He also felt monumentally pissed. He he was, trying to stay away, trying to not interfere, trying to make his life away from the pack, and they were the ones bringing him pack into it. He Derek was going back on his words, bringing him little by little back into the fray, but keeping him at arms length so that Derek could _maintain_ control. After everything Derek had said to him, proclaiming him to be 'not pack' he never bothered to tell his actual pack that Stiles was not included in it. Not to mention going so far as to allow Scott, the catalyst of all of it all, into his _new_ home, smiling and eating together, while the human Stiles remains on the out to deal with the fallback.

No, no Stiles was pissed and hurt all over again. Stiles felt like he wanted to scream. Even his magic agreed with that sentiment. 

"It doesn't matter," he waved off dismissively, his tone more gruff than he meant it to be.

Lydia nearly stomped her heel on the floor, not wanting to damage her nails if she punched the wall. "Yes it does! Why Stiles! Tell me why!"

"It was his decision!" Stiles yelled, his voice booming in what silence of his house. He watched as Lydia went still, the tears running down her face. Her red lips quivering just a little at the realization of what had really happened at the beginning of the summer. He thought he should feel some bitter resentment or some fresh waves of hurt for telling her this. He was angry, but he also felt...relieved. He felt lighter, getting it off his chest. "He thinks that I helped Scott. That I was the one to formulate the plan. We all know Scott doesn't possess the brain to make such a plan. Which is why Deaton helped him. Scott betrayed Derek. I was just made as the patsy."

"Did you try to explain to him," she asked hesitantly after a moment. "Why didn't you say something to him?"

Stiles nodded, feeling his heart rate go up and his blood run cold. "I did. I tried to get him to see what happened. He didn't believe me. The human who is too nosy and reckless for his own good. He didn't believe me."

"That son of bitch, that bastard, that-that..." Lydia surprised him by nearly letting out a squeal of frustration and stifling it in time, wiping at her cheeks with her knuckles instead. "I'm going to kill him."

"What?"

Lydia shook her head, looking lost and angry. Her cheeks were flushed, nearly matching the hot pink color of her nails. "I can't believe him. That he would blatantly push you aside. After the stories I have heard from Isaac about what you have done for the pack, for Scott. How dare he!? Not to mention the fact he didn't take note of you being hurt that night. What did they want?"

"Huh," confused by the question, the turn of her ranting.

"The hunters."

Stiles sighed, standing in the center of his room, stuffing his hands in his pockets. This conversation was no where near to its end point. He might as well face it. Lydia was on a roll with her questions and she was already high on emotions right now. He didn't want her angry at him for not dishing out on some things. He wasn't ready to tell her about Gerard or Grant and so far she hadn't pressed on that. He was counting that a blessing. Stiles feared what she would think or say if she knew that much. "They wanted information on the pack. I didn't give them anything before you ask," seeing her about ready open her mouth to ask. "It didn't help my case, but I didn't give anything."

Lydia stared at him for a moment, almost like she was weighing his words and then trying to decide what to ask next. "So what, afterwards they just left you alone? Who were they?"

Stiles shrugged, keeping his face neutral. "Hunters from out of town. They had heard about the pack, heard about the Kanima first and were interested. After learning about the local pack, they tried to get more information. Apparently they had been stalking some of us during their stay. They got me after the game that night after learning about my association with all of this. They took me from the field."

"I'm so sorry," she said looking like she wanted to reach out to him, but deciding to wrap her arms across her chest. "What they did, it never should have happened. Hunter's have codes. They never hurt people without motive, serious motive."

Stiles fought to roll his eyes at that. "Like Kate Argent? Or Gerard?" _Like Allison,_ he silently thought to himself.

Stiles could see the clouded doubt pass over her face. Her green eyes went downcast, like a look of shame or guilt. He knew Lydia had learned about what those two hunters in particular had done. He even mention a little bit to her that night when he had explained everything to her. It wouldn't surprise him if she had asked more question from others since then. When she spoke, he didn't hear her. Her lips moved, but no sound. Maybe she was struggling to get the words out.

"What?"

She looked at him a little exasperated and sad. She spoke again, but still no sound. Then suddenly, his vision blurred.

The pain shot through his head again. Images flew through his mind. The Preserve, trees and the the ground covered in fallen dead leaves. The Nemeton. And then the hooded figure, the one from the Astral plane. As the images flooded his mind, the figure seemed to stare at him. He could see it's eyes so clearly, crystal blue, cold and deadly. he could see it as clearly as he saw Lydia. The sight of her fading away as quickly as it came, replaced by surrounding trees and wooded area of the Preserve. He was spinning, watching as his world blended with another. Back and forth, back and forth. Then he saw the Nemeton, sitting a few meters from him. The hooded figure, looking at him, it's arms spread a little at it's sides. It's eyes seemed to flash, before it turned more towards him. Stiles automatically started to step back, before feeling something hard press against his back, blocking him. When he turned to look, he saw nothing. Nothing behind him, but open air and trees a few feet away. The Nemeton seemed to vibrate, the thumping sound returning to his ears, almost in time with his pounding heart.

As the figure drew closer, he felt the sheer cold grip of fear clutch his body, immobilizing him, keeping him still. 

Then a hard sting across his face, throwing his head to the side with such force it brought tears behind his eyes.

Behind the water clouding his vision, the image of the figure disappearing in blurred smudges, the Nemeton following as was the rest of the Preserve. He closed his eyes before reopening them, finding himself back in his house, in his room, Lydia standing in front of him, her face contorted with worry, gripping his hands between them. He hadn't felt such relief in a while that he lost his stance, his knees buckled beneath him. He fell to the floor, Lydia following him.

"Stiles," she said. "Are you okay? Look at me. Stiles?"

Stiles had to take several deep breaths before he could speak, but he nodded, more for her benefit than his. He thought he was back there. He thought he was back in the Astral realm. One moment he was awake, seeing Lydia, talking to her, the next his home, his friend, was all gone, replaced by the world that was not his. The one he wanted to forget about, but probably never will. His face still stung and the water in his eyes, slowly disappeared. He had the sneaking suspicion that Lydia was to blame for that.

"Did you slap me," he asked after a few moments.

She shrugged a bit, her eyes filled with concern as she looked at his face, studying him, looking for signs of whatever it was that troubled her. "It was either that or I start screaming. Since I don't trust myself to do that yet, I thought I'd give that a shot first."

Stiles huffed out a dry laugh. He swallowed hard, feeling his mouth go suddenly dry. "I don't know what happened."

"You looked like you spaced out for a moment, before you became fearful. Like your were seeing something that wasn't there." Lydia said. As she studied him, he looked down at their joined hands, unconsciously tightening his hold on hers as his mind thought up of the plane all over again, about what happened the last time he was actually there. "Or was it something only you could see?"

"I was back there," Stiles muttered tremulously. "I was back on the Astral plane."

Whether or not she meant to dig her nails into the back of his hands, he wasn't sure, but when she spoke, it was controlled, albeit a little tense. "You were awake. That can't happen if you are consciously awake."

Stiles just shrugged. "You sound more sure of that than I am."

Lydia said nothing as she held onto him, trying to provide comfort however she could. A few moments later they both heard steps a thud from downstairs, steps on the stairs. Stiles could sense who it was before turning his eyes up to look. Something he was becoming accustomed to was his magic reacting to the anything else that had magic or was touched with it. Danny was one of those beings. At the sight of the Hawaiian, he almost wanted to cry in guilt at the look on Danny's face. Guilt for still not telling Danny everything, for nearly getting pulled into that place again.

The boy saw them both on the floor, Lydia nearly sitting in his lap, a leg underneath hers, their hands joined together in a white knuckled hold. A look of worry on Lydia's face. Stiles could only guess what was on his face because the next moment, Danny had surged forward, dropping his duffel bag which held his work out gear, and came to kneel beside the both of them, looking bewtween, silently asking for an explanation. He thought he was done with the Astral plane. He hadn't been sleeping the past week. Forcing himself to stay awake, downing coffee and using his magic to stay awake. Anyone with eyes would notice. He didn't want to go back there. If the shadows under his eyes were an indication about his fears, then he didn't know what was. Stiles couldn't find the words for one. He had no explanation. All he could talk about is what happened. That would mean nothing without answers to his questions. Nothing without a solution.

"We need to see Deaton, now."

Leave it to Lydia, the Banshee goddess to be the one to think clearly.

 

*** * * * * * ***

The fact that it took less than an hour for all three of them to pile into Danny's car, head to Deaton's right after he had closed for the evening, file in without bothering to knock on the door and then go on about telling him what had happened with little to no questioning was rather a miracle. Danny was being filled in on things as well, having left it up to Stiles to spill the information at once instead of repeating himself. Stiles could see the faint tick of the boy's jaw in different parts as they had driven to the clinic, Lydia talking on the phone, trying to cancel their Chinese order. At the somewhat tired invitation from Deaton to explain what their visit was for, Stiles launched into the story while Lydia and Danny took places around the room to listen, Deaton leaning against the table in the middle of the room, patiently listening. 

Lydia didn't say anything the whole time, no doubt her mind preoccupied with all the information Stiles was retelling and her having heard it firsthand and still trying to believe everything he told her. Stiles was glad she didn't push on any thing dealing with the pack. Stiles didn't tell them what he and Lydia were talking about. He didn't want to go into all of that. Nevermind that Danny was still pissed with the pack and what Derek had said to Stiles that night, he didn't want to give anymore of a reason for Danny to go over their and magically punch them all or something. The whole realization that Derek had not told the pack that he kicked Stiles out of it or rather told him he didn't want him around, still burned inside him. Those words still churned in his head. He remembered Derek's face from that night, enraged, betrayed, hurt, and pained, wrapped up in his expressive eyebrows and colorful eyes. To have all of that happen to Stiles, all of those words thrown into his face, just for Derek to keep it quiet, it made Stiles angry. Angry because this is what Derek wanted, not Stiles. So why was he making it out like Stiles was guilty, but playing it off as if Stiles doesn't want to be around the pack?

It pissed him off.

Lydia didn't bother to jump in with that bit of information when he skipped over it. All he said was they were up in his room, hanging out, talking before they order Chinese food, and then everything just seemed to happen. Deaton listened intently, leaning against the counter top in one of his exam room where they all gathered. When they came in, he was cleaning up for the day, so they caught him at a good time. Now his professional attention was on them and Stiles was kind of glad for it. He had no answers to this and if anyone was able to help them, even just a little, it was Deaton.

Despite having gone through what he told Lydia about what happened to him, neither Danny nor Deaton corrected him on anything or made any move to add to it. They didn't mention Gerard or Grant either. Stiles wasn't sure Deaton even knew about Grant, but he did know about Gerard. Danny knew about both, but he didn't know the extent to which Stiles had faced on some things. so he was grateful for that. When he told his story, no one interrupted and no one asked a question. After he was done, the room fell quiet. Lydia was looking to Deaton, waiting with baited breath. Danny was looking at the floor, with a look that Stiles couldn't identify.

"So doc," Stiles said after few more tense moments, trying to not shuffle too much on his feet. "What the hell is going on here?"

Deaton arched an eyebrow at him, but then went back to thinking, his mouth turned down at the corners. Stiles has gotten used to being around the man that that expression usually meant he was thinking hard. Taking in every detail he can remember to try and piece together an explanation. Lydia had much the same look, over sitting against the wall in a low chair, manicured finger tapping at her knee every couple seconds as she furrows her own brows as she thinks. Danny still hadn't moved and but had his head turned towards Deaton, listening intently.

Deaton sighed heavily, his shoulders rising and falling before he turned his calm dark eyes to Stiles. "I believe there is more going on here than what we already know."

That statement alone earned a snort and and scoff from both Lydia and Stiles. Danny however narrowed his eyes at the man. "Ya think," he deadpanned.

The vet ignored Danny to say, "From the sounds of what you experienced and taking into account the times you have been to the Astral plane, it almost sounds like your magic is being called to there. Coerced in a way. Your magic is responding and your subconscious is allowing it."

That was not what Stiles was suspecting. He actually thought the man was going to blame it on side effects from his being in the Astral plane multiple times, maybe lean towards traumatic events now making themselves known like post-traumatic stress or something. Not that he didn't have enough control to reel in his magic. Not that he was unaware of his magic doing this to him. "Your saying I lack control," with a tinge of shame in his voice.

"That is not what I'm saying at all. This is not on purpose," Deaton said with a square of his shoulder, leveling Stiles with a knowing look. "Your magic responds to your emotions, no matter if your are fully aware of them or not. If you are being coerced into the Astral plane, your magic knows about it."

Lydia piped up then. "So something else is forcing Stiles' magic to the other plane. So what now?"

"What do I do," Stiles asked before she finished.

"There is not much that can be done about the source pulling you in," Deaton said as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Your magic works in tandem with you, but in a way it also works separate. One thing I read about mages is there affinity to sense other planes or dimensions. Even more so if they are powerful enough or even if they have visited that plane before. Your magic is used to the atmosphere of that plane, might say used to it. If there is something it senses as a dangerous, it will attempt to warn you."

"I don't follow." Stiles honestly wasn't.

The former Emissary clasped his hands together against his legs as he remained leaning against the steel table. "Your magic is powerful, Stiles. I believe it is strong enough to sense when something is wrong. If your magic is being called from the Astral plane, then it will do what it can to protect you."

"You make it sound like his magic is alive," Lydia said with a purse of her lips.

"Technically it is," Danny said, breaking the silent spell he seemed to be under, bringing all eyes to him. "All magic is. A spark is magic's means of life in a living being. So if Stiles dies, what happens to his magic?"

Stiles gulped. "It fades away."

Deaton nodded alongside Danny both with somber expressions. "Being in the Astral realm was one way for your magic to help warn you. Whatever is coercing it to that plane, your magic wanted you to see it. However, that also mean keeping you alive there while also maintaining your body here. Unfortunately it takes a toll. Your magic is like a well of sorts, filled up with energy. The more in use it is, the more that well depletes. Eventually it begins to harm you. The longer you were in the Astral plane, the more magic it took to keep your mind stable, which eventually led to your magic taking more energy from your body," Deaton explained matter-of-factly.

"That's why he was so...sickly," Lydia stated with a concerned crease of her forehead and frown.

"You're sure that something is doing this," Stiles asked hesitantly as he looked at the older man. Even if Deaton had more experience and knowledge on all things supernatural, the man didn't know everything. Deaton would be the first to admit that. Stiles just didn't want to get up hope and then have it be taken away when they learn that this was just all in his head-literally-and that's all it was. "That this is..."

He didn't finish and he didn't have to. Deaton seemed to know his thoughts, his doubts at all of this actually being supernatural, as he gave him a solemn nod and a somewhat reassuring twitch of his mouth. "I do believe this. Otherwise I would suspect that the Astral plane wouldn't be the only plane you have visited. Yet it seems to be the one causing the problem."

Stiles felt a little relief that Deaton seemed sure about this. The problem was still what to do about all of this. The sooner he stopped seeing images of the Astral realm and other unpleasant things, the better.

"What could be doing this," Danny asked stepping up closer to Stiles and Deaton.

Deaton gave small tilt of his head. "I don't have more information than that I'm afraid. Whatever is trying to bring his magic to the plane, I cannot say.”

"I can," Stiles said with a duck of his head, not looking at anyone. He knew what it was. The only explanation that could cause him to even stay in the Astral realm. There was only one constant in his times there, only one that made its presence known in some of the worst ways. "It's that...thing...the one that always remains covered. The one I mentioned with the glowing crystal blue eyes."

"The one you thought you dreamed up," Danny asked.

Stiles nodded. "Not so much a dream anymore, with the plane being real and all. I don't know what it is, but I think it is human."

"How can you tell," Lydia asked from her seat, eyes wide. This was the first she was hearing about this. She had so far only seen the aftermath of what Stiles was exposed to. Funny how the first and last time she had seen what Stiles had suffered through in that plane that it was the worst out of all the times.

"I saw it’s hands,” he said plainly. “They looked human. Pale, long fingers, but no less human than our own hands. It's skin was just like ours, but cold like ice. I never saw any other part of it. Always remained shadowed, always covered."

"Was it the one that... D-Did...it do those things to you, the cuts and bruises?" Danny asked tightly, between clenched teeth, his hands in curled fist where his knuckles went white.

Stiles shook his slowly. He tried to not think of all the cuts or the bruises. The stinging cold hand over his throat as it pressed down, cutting off his air. The sharp pain of being cut open and stabbed. He knew everyone wanted to know what happened based on their questioning eyes, but he didn’t know how to tell them. Just like he didn’t know how to fully tell what Gerard or Grant did to him. All they saw was the damaged done to him, that was enough evidence to form their own conclusions.

"Not all. There...there were others.” He was meaning the people that filled his nightmares. “It did other things. It has magic or something very close to it. It took my magic or stopped it from working somehow. I could feel my magic still there but I never could get it past my skin, never out to help me."

"And the others,” Lydia and Danny asked at the same time which was just eerie. Although both of them shared the same look of concern. Deaton remained silent, quietly assessing the whole situation.

"It doesn't matter."

"What happened?" Danny pressed again, trying to catch Stiles' eye. Stiles refused to look at him or any of them. He wanted to not have that conversation yet. He wanted to fix this problem and move on. 

"Stiles-" Lydia tried next.

"Look just tell me how I can prevent this from happening again. I like my world and I want to stay in it," he interjected, cutting Lydia off and looking at Deaton instead. One problem at a time. He just wanted this one to be over with. His nightmares he could handle, but being in another dimension, unable to wake up again, that he couldn't. He didn't want a repeat.

Scratching at his chin in thought, he said, "I'll dig up what I can on any potential mentions of such a creature in the Astral plane. But in the meantime there may be one way to stop the pull of your magic."

"Great," Stiles said spreading his arms out wide. "I'm all ears doc."

"There is a spell. A ritual of sorts to ground you to this plane. It works like a tether around your magic, keeps it from...wandering."

"Okay?"

He saw Deaton's lip tilt up the slightest bit before he continued, "It doesn't prevent you from going to other planes of your _own_ will once you learn how. It works more for you as the host than your magic. It provides you with a source to hold onto, something to support you with. Giving you a firmer hold on this plane, this world, therefore providing your magic a firmer grip on it as well."

"So to ground my magic, I have to ground myself."

"In simpler terms yes," the man said with a shrug of his lips.

"How will that prevent his magic from being forced to another plane," Lydia asked the Druid.

"If I am right," Deaton said still in thought, no doubt going through all the information he has retained over the years, trying to work it out from his mind into words, "then the grounding to this plane will do the same to Stiles' magic. In a way, Stiles and his magic are both one in the same. This thing that is pulling at Stiles' magic is also pulling at him. This spell works to hold them both here. It gives them the ability to be rooted here."

Lydia's brows furrows, resuming her tapping on her knees, with her finger. "And he could leave whenever he wants though, if he chooses to?"

"Yes. It just grounds them here, but does not restrict their reach of their own wishes."

"Like a tree," Danny deduced.

"Like an anchor," Stiles says.

"Sometimes even magic users need an anchor," Deaton said, his tone soft.

Stiles nodded. "Okay so what do you need? If this helps to keep me here, then what do I do?"

Deaton shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest, shuffling his weight to the other foot as he continued to lean against the steel exam table. "It is not that simple. Just like any other anchor, for all beings whether supernatural or not, the source of said anchor must be meaningful. It has to be something or someone you have a strong emotional connection with otherwise the link will break."

"Oh." Stiles murmurred unsure now.

"Someone can be an anchor," Lydia asked.

Deaton nodded, looking at the Banshee with a considerate look. "Yes. If that person is someone with said emotional connection to them. Not unlike for werewolves, a person can be their anchor as well. One who holds them to their human side and helps keep their anger and the predator at bay. One who provides them with calmness and memories that they cherish. Essentially a person or even _persons_ we care about are often the most powerful sources to anchor someone."

"That can't be too hard Stiles," Lydia said reassuringly.

"There is more," the Druid went on to say, his tone turning serious, with an edge of warning. "There are prices to pay."

Danny looked to Deaton after that, his own tone going cautious. "What do you mean?"

"As you may have heard before, blood is one of the most meaningful substances in the world. It one of the most common traits shared between all living beings. It is also the best variable to connect two sources together. For this spell to work, blood must be drawn and shared."

"Ew," Stiles found himself saying before he could stop himself.

"So this price is that Stiles and whoever has pay is to get hurt for this to work," Danny said with a weighted voice.

"In a way." Deaton went to his bookshelf to pulled out a rather large volume. The book was bound in old leather, faded red and with slight hints of a font on the front that Stiles couldn't read. He came back to the center of the room, flipping through it quickly to show them two pages, written in Latin, scrawled with elegant script. Dusty and old. "This is the spell. For the two sources to remain tethered, not only does blood have to be drawn, but this symbol has to be shared." He points to a black symbol at the bottom of the page on the right. It looked like an intricate yet simple knot. Stiles had seen it before, in one of Deaton's books. It was a Celtic knot, looking like it a single strand woven around itself to make loops under and over. It was beautiful, Stiles had to admit.

"So what that has to be drawn on us for the spell," Stiles asked, looking over the symbol curiously.

Deaton nodded, but looked pained. "It has to be the symbol in blood."

"Say what?" Stiles asked.

"You mean...carved." Danny said beside him, coming up to look at the Celtic knot more closely. His dark eyes were hard, his expression looked closed off. "Cut into the skin."

The vet didn't nod, but there was no need to. His somber face was enough confirmation. "This is the only way to perform the spell. It doesn't work otherwise. The blood and the symbol works to tie both together, just as the symbol suggests, like a knot."

"No you are not carving that into Stiles," Danny said quickly, already shaking his head.

"What about an object," Lydia asked helpfully, standing up from her chair, before Stiles could say something like how he didn't like the idea of more scars on his body. Or to defend himself on his own without Danny's help. "What would the spell require for that?"

"The same thing method, only it would just be Stiles' blood connecting them. However the symbol still has to be made, carved into the surface of whatever Stiles chooses."

There really was no upside to it. Either way it would mean getting bloody. "So either way I still end up with a carving," he said after a tense couple heart beats.

Deaton looked apologetic as he said, "I'm sorry, but-"

"Is there nothing else that can be done," Danny asked before the man could finish.

The older man sighed, closing the book and placed it on the steel slab. He scratched at an eyebrow before answering the question. "I don't know. Without more research I can't say if there is another way to ensure Stiles and his magic remain in this dimension. There are other spells and possibly even talismans that can be used to protect one's magic, but often times it is to protect them from physical forces, but that's all that I have heard of."

"Wait you said prices," Lydia said leveling her green stare on the Druid. "What else?"

"This spell cannot be broken," Deaton said simply, staring back with an air of certainty. "Once it is done it cannot be broken until the apparent death of one or both hosts."

"So I would be tied to someone for the rest of my life," Stiles said, not phrasing it as a question, but just a simple statement.

"Yes," Deaton answered anyway.

Stiles threw up his arms, nearly hitting Danny in the face as he did. "Well that makes this so worth while. Like I would love to be tied to someone, reliant on them for the rest of my life to help keep me from not dying in some far off dimension somewhere."

"It is not a stranger you will be tying yourself to," Deaton said helpfully. "It is someone you care about as they would you."

Stiles tried to think about who would be best for something like this. He tried to think about who would willingly do this, knowing what it means. "Who? Who could I subject that to? Dad is not here. Not to mention I don't think he would enjoy being connected to me. And I can't ask Scott. There is so much going on right now between us that it probably wouldn't work."

Deaton didn't say anything after that. He didn't comment on Scott or the current status of their friendship. Stiles wasn't even sure they had a friendship anymore. He didn't want to speak to Scott, barely even wanted to see him. Any time he thought of him, he thought of what Scott did and how Stiles was left to suffer at the hands of Gerard and Grant while Scott worked with that mad man. Scott may not have known about what happened, or at least Stiles hoped not, but it didn't mean Scott wasn't there for him even before he was kidnapped.

"Okay so it doesn't have to be a person," Lydia said coming up to stand by the slab as well. "Make it an object."

"Like what? There is nothing that I own or have that I have an emotional connection with other than my Jeep or my house and I don't want to be connected to them, especially if my house catches on fire or I crash my Jeep somewhere."

No one said anything after that. Stiles had a point. Meaningless objects won't work and the two things he did value could just as easily be taken away. Also what would happen if he goes away to college? Would the connection to say his house be too hard to handle without being close to it. Would he be unable to leave Beacon Hills? How would it affect him? Would he be able to feel this link or would it just an invisible line that connects him to whatever or whoever he chooses and nothing more?

"What would this mean for me?" He asked, flicking at his nails, nervous at hearing the answer. "The connection. What would it mean for whoever or whatever I choose? Would I always have to be near them?"

Deaton considered for a moment before speaking. "I do not believe so. If my understanding of these types of links is correct, the connection can be whatever you want it to be. The spell does nothing but bind you here, however you wish to use that link is up to you."

"Well that's good, I guess," Lydia said with a small smile, "Now we just have to find what or who to connect you to."

"I'll do it," Danny said from beside Stiles, stunning everyone into silence once more. It took a good few moments, the tension and weight of the atmosphere settling in around them, pushing like a heavy blanket. Lydia and Deaton was eyeing him with interest and surprise, but Stiles' own was most likely one of wide, open with horror and an array of questions. Not that Danny saw since he had looked to the floor immediately in either embarrassment or out of shame for suggesting it.

"What?"

"If you want," Danny says quietly, still not looking at Stiles.

Stiles was shaking his head quickly. "No, I can't ask you to do this. You have already done more than enough for me, I cannot ask for you to get hurt for me or get bonded to me in anyway. We-We don't even know what this link could do."

"Stiles-"

"No Danny," he said vehemently. "What makes you think you and I have an emotional connection anyway?"

Danny just leveled him with a look. Even Lydia and Deaton did the same thing. Stiles tried to not roll his eyes and blush at them. "Funny," Danny said instead.

"It's not fair," Stiles said, trying to convey how unsure he was about this in his words. "Screw whatever this spell does for me or what it can do for me. I cannot ask someone else to tie themselves to me like this. You heard what Deaton said, it can't be undone."

"I also said the connection can be whatever you make it," the vet pointed out, but Stiles and Danny barely listened.

"If there is a chance that this could work," the other boy said, "that this could help you, why should we ignore it?"

Stiles snorted, finding this both amusing and completely bonkers. "It is not worth it. I am already enough of a problem that I don't need to-"

"Stop!"

Stiles' mouth clasped shut with a click. Staring at Danny, stunned at the force of his friend's voice. Even Lydia and Deaton were looking at Danny with equal looks of curious silence. 

"I am not going to stand by and listen to you call yourself a problem or say that your are not good enough, or any bullshit about you being a burden," Danny nearly spat. His dark eyes sharp on Stiles, unflinching. His chest rising and falling a little quick. He moved away from the table, walking over to the far cabinets across the room, rolling his shoulders as he spoke again. "I told you before that this habit of yours, where you constantly put yourself down or think you are less than you are, has got to stop. Because I won't hear it, not for one second."

"But I-"

"No, you will not." Danny said forcefully, stepping closer to Stiles, coming so close to him that Stiles took a few steps back on instinct. He could see the lighter shades of brown in his eyes and the hard set of his jaw. "I will lay you out flat on your ass if you say one more word against yourself." Danny dropped his voice lower, low enough so only he and Stile could hear, Lydia and Deaton unable to hear more than just slight whispers. "One thing I do ask is what will it take? What will it take for you to believe that you are not _weak_ , in any way?"

Stiles didn't realize he was that transparent. He felt his eyes widen just a fraction as he looked at Danny, taking in the hard lines of his face, the determined look in his eyes. He never spoke to Danny about his fear of looking or feeling weak. He never really spoke to Danny about feeling the constant helplessness when he was in the pack. Sure he had ideas and made plans, but that was far as it went. He never did anything beyond that. Stiles wasn't super strong or fast, he didn't heal quickly nor did he have heightened senses. He wasn't even trained in weaponry like Allison was. Even she could help from afar if she wanted to.

Now it was different. Now he had training, he had weapons, his smarts, his magic. He had more tools than he ever had before. Yet the damage had already been done. His time with the pack was over.

Stiles was nothing but human to them, despite what he had become, all that he had suffered and endured. Danny didn't know everything about what he has gone through. Hell, Danny didn't know anything about his training with Chris or his time in the Astral plane, the things he was forced to do. Forced to do because he couldn't prevent himself otherwise. Because he was too weak to do anything else.

Stiles never told Danny anything about his fears. About being helpless when everything around him crumbled to nothing. About those he cared about hurting, suffering, or fighting while he stood in the shadows watching. He never told him that has felt weak...for far longer than he cared to admit. Even _before_ the pack.

For Danny to guess or even see that fear, to call him out on his bullshit, Stiles didn't know whether to be impressed or to back away, turn and hide away in shame. Stiles has always put on a brave face. Danny saw right through it. He didn't realize how close Danny and Stiles had become. What made it noticeable now was when he was forced to take a step back to see it. He also saw how easy it was between them, how comfortable. There may be things they have not talk about, but it didn't mean they wouldn't eventually. It just meant they were finding their way up to it.

"I..." Stiles began to say, only to open and close his mouth a couple times, not knowing what to say.

Danny took a deep breath, leaning back on his heels before speaking. "If you want to find another way then we can. Just don't think you are alone in this. Not in the slightest."

Stiles looked up at Danny, meeting his eyes. If he was searching for something, he wasn't aware of it. Maybe it was strength or reassurance? Maybe he wanted to see the conviction in his eyes that Danny clearly had in his voice. Stiles couldn't be sure what it was he needed in those moments, but whatever it was, it helped him to relax a bit. He was still anxious though. He could feel his magic sloshing around inside him, trying to wrap around his heart in silent warmth, giving whatever comfort it could. 

"A-Are you sure you want to do this," Stiles asked whispered so Danny could hear.

Danny nodded slowly. "If you want to do this I will help you. I _want_ to help you. If this means that you are protected and safe in some way from that...thing..then I'm for that," he said honestly.

Stiles wasn't sure when their relationship came to this. How Danny came to care about Stiles or his well being. Maybe he always cared? He just never really had to act on it until the past couple of months. At some point he thought he would feel guilty for getting closer to Danny, because he was supposed to be best friends with Scott. For years, over a decade, he had been best friends with Scott. He thought they would always have each other's backs and for a long time they did. That end in the past year. Stiles wasn't sure when it ended, but at some point Stiles had become less of a constant in Scott's life. 

Stiles couldn't pin the blame completely on Allison, that wasn't fair. Because even then Scott made his choices. Scott always made his own choices. It wasn't like Allison forced him to do anything, at least that he knew of, having Scott for herself while it pushed Stiles further away. Stiles thought Scott being a werewolf brought them a little closer, where Stiles was present to help when Scott needed it, or even when he didn't want it, but just knowing that Stiles was nearby just in case. Stiles knew that Scott had made his mistakes, just as Stiles made his, but he could not pinpoint the time in history where Scott and Stiles started to become....well just Scott and then just Stiles. 

When Stiles was hurt and broken from the hunters, Danny was the one to help him. Despite the hiding that Stiles now knew Danny had been doing for his whole life, he willingly helped Stiles to get better. Then went so far as to spend time with him. Sometimes Stiles wasn't sure if it was out of pity or if it was to repay Stiles for saving his life twice. As the weeks turned into months, Stiles couldn't help but compare Danny to Scott. There were differences, but there were also similarities. What he also feared was if Danny would turn out like Scott, leave him behind when he decided he no longer wanted Stiles around. Would he do that?

But then why would he agree to do this for Stiles, if he never planned to stay around. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that it was unfair to compare Danny to Scott. They were not the same people. They may have some similar traits in character, but they were different where it counted. Danny had been there when Stiles needed him most, even when he didn't want it. Danny had saved his life. Danny had given support when Stiles felt like he didn't deserve it. Danny had never treated Stiles like he was broken, but as a survivor, worthy of being alive, worthy of being someone to care for. Danny had (inadvertently) shared intimate details about his childhood with his father, choosing to relinquish painful memories out in the open, something Stiles still had to talk to him about. Danny had spent over a week, looking for answers and solutions to try and save Stiles from the Astral plane, trying to keep him alive. Danny had taught him magic, taught him that he was more than the hyper-active kid, who was as awkward as he was spastic.

Danny was a friend that Stiles didn't know he was missing in his life until recently. One with an immeasurable amount of compassion for those he cares for. And Stiles was fitting into that category. So maybe he should take the leap. A trusted leap.

Stiles found himself nodding his head, feeling lighter at the motion as the seconds ticked by. He kept his eyes on Danny, keeping them locked with Danny's dark brown eyes, hoping to convey all his strength into them. "Okay," he said quietly, never breaking his gaze. 

"Okay?" Danny asked cautiously, curiously, with a little bit of surprise.

"Yeah," Stiles said after a swallow. "If you are okay with this, then I am willing to try. I-I trust you."

The brightness in Danny's eyes comes back full force, a small smile creeping on his face. He nodded a little bit in answer to Stiles. He took a step back, giving Stiles some space. When they both looked to the rest of the room, Lydia was looking between the both of them with barely hidden questions behind her green irises. Deaton, as always, remained like a statue, unflinching or showing any amount of emotion. Calm and professional.

"Tell us what we have to do," Stiles said quickly, not wanting to lose any of his nerve. 

Deaton barely had to look at either of them before he nodded, moving about the place. He pulled out candles, setting them at various spots in the room and lighting them with a small flame from a lighter, it took Stiles a couple moments to realize they were points to symbolize north, south, east, and west. During that time, Danny stood next to him beside the large steel slab, bumping his should gently in a show of comfort. Stiles gave a little nod before returning to paying attention to what the vet was doing.

The man pulled out multiple pieces of gauze, setting them on a tray, along with shiny scalpel. If anyone heard Stiles' intake of breath, no one commented or paid attention. When Deaton came to the slab, he position the book in between all of them, Lydia standing stock still, pressed against the end of the table between them all, her arms wrapped around herself tightly. She looked like she was preventing herself from shaking, but her eyes were looking over the instruments and the book, her jaw set and her chin raised. If she wanted to object, now was the time. When Stiles caught her eye, she held his gaze, giving him a little nod with a look of confidence Stiles wasn't sure she was completely feeling.

Deaton then looked at both him and Danny, his eyes soft, but his mouth in a grim line. "The symbol must be completed first, before the spell starts."

Stiles saw Danny clench his fists beside him, his shoulders going tense. He had no doubt Danny's face was a stoic mask, trying to not give away any kind of emotion when no doubt he was nearly screaming on the inside. He could relate. When Deaton looked at them expectantly, waiting for one to move first, Danny sighed heavily before removing holding exposed left arm on the slab, pressing it down firmly.

"Do what you need to," he said in a hard voice.

Stiles watched with a cold feeling in his gut accompanied by butterflies as Deaton nodded. Taking an alcohol wipe, wiping off the scalpel before turning Danny's arm over, exposing the underside, wiping off the skin in the middle below the crease. He poised the blade over Danny's skin, eyeing him before he started, giving Danny the option to stop any of this. When all Danny did was give a sharp nod, Stiles was nearly about ready to burst forward to take the knife away from Deaton. He held back, trying to remember why Danny and he were doing this.

When the scalpel made contact, drawing the first bit of scarlet blood, hearing Danny hiss with pain, Stiles moved, clutching onto Danny's other arm and shoulder. He wasn't a werewolf so he couldn't take the pain from him as Deaton continued to wield the blade, but he hoped he was able to something for him, even if it meant providing a firm grip to take his mind a little away from the pain. He heard Lydia's intake of breath as she watched, also not moving, but wrapping her arms even tighter around herself, her skin going pale. Stiles gripped onto Danny, his fingers digging into his skin, leaving bruises as Danny tried to hold still. Deaton held his arm down as he expertly moved the blade, face set, not giving away anything.

Stiles could see the blood dripping over Danny's muscled forearm, running onto the steel slap and continuing on an unseen course. He held tighter as Danny flinched, his muscles in his back moving and then locking. Danny wasn't looking at anything, just closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. Stiles could feel his heart beating rapidly under his skin, radiating throughout his body. Even his body temperature rose with his heart rate. Sweat Each hiss, each grunt, or near jerk of his body, Stiles held on tighter, not holding him in place, but holding him to try and shoulder any sort of discomfort he could.

It wasn't physical pain he was feeling, seeing Danny being cut open. It was more emotional. He hated seeing this. He felt immense guilt for allowing this. Despite any of Danny's words, he hated seeing Danny bleed for him like this. He shouldn't have allowed this to happen.

It took a good ten minutes before Deaton moved away with the blade, looking at his handiwork quizzically, making sure it was exactly like the one in the book. Danny pulled his arm back a little, not taking his arm away from the slab, the blood still free flowing. Not saying anything, just grunting in pain. Now in the middle of his forearm, in smooth lines, was a work of intricate lines, overlapping one another, forming the Celtic knot that was in the book. It looked almost like an exact replicate, and the sight made Stiles feel a little nauseous.

Deaton had wiped off the scalpel, disinfecting it quickly before turning back to look at Stiles. Stiles knew that now it was his turn and the butterflies was now like a tornado inside him, mixing with his magic. Warmth and cold flying through him, nearly causing him to shake. Danny looked at him, not saying anything, offering a small smile that was more of a grimace. He seemed to ignore the blood on his arm, but he did pat Stiles' hand that was still holding onto his shoulder tightly. 

Swallowing Stiles let go, moving to position himself, facing the slab fully. Taking a deep breath, he laid his own left arm on the cold steel, ignoring any of Danny's blood that might be touching his skin. This was about sharing pain, blood, and bonding through it all, so he wasn't going to be squeamish about it. It also wasn't the first time he had someone else's blood on him and he had no doubt it wouldn't be the last.

When he raised his eyes to Deaton, he said with more confidence than he really felt, "What is one more scar, right?"

He barely heard Lydia sigh heavily and Danny scoff beside him. Whether consciously or not, Danny had moved closer to Stiles. He could feel the warmth of his body on his shoulder and side. When Deaton looked at him one more time, his eyes searching for anything to deter him, he carefully place the blade on his skin. Stiles felt the cold kiss as the blade puncture, drawing forth his own warm blood. He gritted his teeth, he body freezing in place, clutching his eyes shut, not wanting to see anymore damage being done to his body. He felt Danny moved closer to him, wrapping his right arm around his shoulders, holding him to him, trying to be the strong rock Stiles needed. 

Stiles tried to focus on that. He tried focus on anything else. Ignoring the swell of his magic or the pain that shot through his arm every couple of seconds as Deaton tried to work as quick as he could. He tried to think of nothing, nothing about the pain, or the fact he would have another scar, or about what they were doing in general. He tried to find something to ground him. As if sensing his thoughts, Danny squeezed him tighter to his body, holding him steady. Stiles could feel the other boy's heart beating against his shoulder, slightly slower than his own which was hammering. He could hear it in his ears. The pain was causing his body to sweat, pooling at the small of his back, over his chest and down his temples. He had a pretty good idea the sight they all looked like right now to an outsider, but he chose to ignore that. He focused on Danny beside him, the warm strength he emanated, focused on Lydia's quick breathing, and the swirling of his magic within his body.

Just as quick as it came, the sharp pain disappeared, leaving behind the aching coldness on his skin. 

"Done," Deaton said quickly, putting the blade to the side without wiping it off. 

Stiles opened his eyes to see the bloodied curves on his arm, mirroring Danny's. His own blood running over and down his arm, dropping on the steel to mix with Danny's. Deaton wasted no time, bringing the book closer so Stiles and Danny could see. He positioned it in front of them, holding it up and off the slab so it didn't get bloodstained.

"Now, press your arms together, symbol to symbol. You are going to have to perform the spell from here," Deaton said quickly.

"I thought you were going to perform the spell," Stiles asked with a wince as he lowered his arm a little, the cool air stinging his cuts.

"I cannot," the mocha-skinned man said with a flicker of something going through his eyes that Stiles couldn't identify. "My abilities are not able to complete this. Also the two being paired are the best options to perform this kind of ritual." 

Danny lowered his marked arm flat on the slab, looking at Stiles, waiting. Stiles wasted no time, letting out a quick breath, before putting his arm across from Danny, lining up their symbols, ignoring any hesitancy at completing what they hoped to do. Stiles looked at Danny once, hoping to see confidence or at least a sense of calmness in his dark depths. What he found instead was determination and an openness that made his magic well up to the surface.

"The spell is at the bottom," Deaton announced, holding the book steady. "Focus on what you want to achieve. To have the best effect, you both must do the spell."

The black inked words were in Latin, but Stiles had no trouble reading and understanding them. He didn't know if Danny understood or recognized them, but he guessed it didn't matter if he did. They knew what all of this was supposed to mean anyway. Taking a deep breath, he nodded at Danny once, both of them making eye contact before reading the spell. Stiles calmed his nerves, trying to relax his heart rate, taking deep breaths before attempting to read. He could feel his magic with him, ready to aid him and he hoped this was the solution. He prayed this was the right thing and not a problem to bite his in the ass in the future.

**_"Petra mea,_ **

**_Mea petulans,_ **

**_Ancoram iacio,_ **

**_Non alligo me ad tuam"_ **

Stiles felt his magic nudge at him under his skin, nude him again the keep going. He felt it begin to leak into his limbs, inching closer to his finger tips. He heard Danny say the words to, a little wobbly on the pronouncement but with conviction.

They tried again, this time a little quicker. Stiles looking at their crossed arms, Danny looking at the book, like he is trying to memorize the words. Both of them sweating still, not no less deterred. Neither Deaton nor Lydia speaking, the only sounds were them speaking and breathing. Stiles could smell the coppery scent of their blood and the smells of the burning candles that were similar to sandalwood. They said the spell again, stronger, more sure. Danny turned his eyes to their arms, Stiles looking at him and noticing he was holding onto the charm of his necklace, no doubt channeling energy and magic from it. Stiles could see the set line of his shoulders, the sweat slicking down his temples and dampening the collar of his maroon shirt. As if sensing his eyes on him, Danny looked up to meet Stiles', a small tilt of the corners of his lips going upward, making Stiles feel a bit better about this. Taking his cue from Danny, they tried again. Saying it slower than before, putting more emphasis on the words.

Stiles reached deeper into his magic, willing it to help them. He hoped this would work. If not for his sake, then for those he cared for. So that he they wouldn't worry about him again. So they would go through what they went through while he was unconscious for over a week. So they wouldn't have to see the trauma he had to endure again. He thought of his dad, Danny, Luna, Lydia, even Deaton. Against his better judgement he thought of the pack as well, hoping to be able to complete what he started (meaning Erica and Boyd) without this to interfere,. Without the threat of that thing looming over head.

**_"Petra mea"_ **

His magic washed over his marked arm, settling like a warm weight over his wounds, soothing it. Danny speaking the words with him, neither breaking eye contact and Stiles taking in every ounce of emotion in Danny's dark eyes.

**_"Mea petulans"_ **

Warmth sunk into his arm, over the marks. Stiles felt Danny's arm heat up beneath his, like he was experiencing the same thing. He could feel his magic being drained from the rest of his body, coming to pool into the contact of their joined limbs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the candles flames rise higher into the air. The one behind Danny doing the same.

**_"Ancoram iacio"_ **

Stiles felt the warmth turn hot, nearly scolding. It made him wince, but he didn't pull away. He could see the twitch of Danny's tendons in his arm and in his neck, but he didn't move either. Never once did they move from their spots. Stiles kept up with spell, pouring all his emotions in those moments into it. His intent, his desire, his hope. As much as he still felt guilty for having Danny do this with him, for him, he still felt an overwhelming amount of affection for the boy before him, who was doing this for him. Both of them channeling magic so they could do this together.

He felt the pull of his magic, the swell of it inside his chest, pulsing in time with his heart. The power of their words evident that it sounded like they were echoing around them.

**_"Non alligo me ad tuam"_ **

Stiles felt the rush of heat run up his arm and into his entire body and then back out like a tidal waved into the contact between them. He heard Danny gasp, but still they didn't break apart. Stiles clenched his hand into a fist at the white hot heat he felt between their skins. His ears were ringing with echoes and sweat was pooling down his neck and into his clavicle just so it could run down his chest or drip onto the floor. His body tingled and his eyesight went just a smidgen blurry before going into absolute clarity. It was like the world alight with bright colors and high definition.

He saw Danny's eyes widen as he stared at him, his mouth hanging open in a silent 'o'. Stiles knew without asking that his eyes were glowing. He had gotten used to the feeling of his eyes changing. It felt like he was near tears, but this was different. It wasn't a heaviness, but sense of warmth. He also could tell based on the look of everything. It was astounding and breathtaking.

_**"Non alligo me ad tuam"** _

With that, he felt like he was punched in the gut as the heat rose. It became searing so much that they both couldn't help but pull away, hissing and nearly falling over at the drained feeling of their bodies. Stiles felt heavy and dizzy all at once, even though his sight was clear. His magic tingled in his fingertips and started to retreat back inside him, but leaving a trail of heat behind as it did. His breathing was quick and labored and he could hear Danny nearby. He saw Danny, hunched over a little, bracing himself on his knees, blood dripping from his hand, smeared on his jeans.

Lydia had come over to him, her hand on his shoulder looking at him worriedly. Deaton was checking on Danny, the book closed and held tight under his arm as he patted Danny on the back. He felt breathless, sucking in air as quick as he could, trying to cool the heat all around and inside him body.

Stiles backed against the wall, sliding down to the floor, Lydia beside him, rubbing her hand through his sweaty hair. Any other time he would be surprised at Lydia Martin doing that for him, while he was bloody and sweaty, but he paid it no mind. It took him a few moments to steady his breathing and calm himself down. He closed his eyes, letting the warmth he felt in them recede as he took in deep breaths. It wasn't until he ran his left hand through his hair that he heard Lydia gasp beside him.

He turned his eyes to her, seeing her look at him arm with wide eyes. Looking down at it, he saw all the blood on his arm, a stark contrast to his pale skin. However, behind it he saw the mark carved into his skin. It was no longer, angry and red and bleeding. It was now white, all scar tissue, smooth and as warm as the rest of his skin. He looked up at Lydia, feeling his own eyes go round and then looking at Danny as he noticed the same thing. His own mark, now a scar, no longer bleeding, now like it had already passed through weeks of healing in less than a couple moments. 

When Danny looked at him, his dark eyes unsure and cycling through a list of emotions Stiles couldn't make out, he sat back against wall a little more. He didn't know what to say anymore than Danny did. The spell was complete. The candles around the room now out, little wisps of smoke billowing in the air.

It was done and there was no going back now.

They were now really in it together.

They were linked.


	18. Haunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM BACK! SOO SORRY FOR THE WAIT! I didn't mean to be out sooo long! First it was vacation then it was starting my new job all just to get sick soon after. With all of that it was hard to write this chapter. There isn't much going on here, but there is some turmoil and a familiar face that I think needed an appearance. There is also some things that will be touched on again in the future, See if you can spot them. Next chapter will be longer and more packed. (Get it??) LOL Stay with me y'all, we are getting to the really fun parts next week!

After the anchoring ritual Stiles was too exhausted to really move. His emotions were everywhere. His mind balancing on the line between blurry and running frantic. He didn’t know what he should do next or what he was meant to do. What could he do next when all his body wanted was to curl up and pass out? 

The scar on his arm now was all he could see. It was small, but big enough to see each criss-cross of lines, each curve of the knot to show that he was now bound. Bound to Danny. Out of everything he never imagined this is could happen. He had read about binding rituals in the books he's collected over the months, but never did he think he would live it. _And with Danny?_

He trusted Danny. He wouldn't have done this if he didn't. It didn't stop his fears and anxiety though. What's done is done. There is no breaking this bond until one or both of them dies. A morbid thought, yes, but still true. Danny has done a lot for him, more than he ever expected. The boy had risked his life to save Stiles, revealed some hard truths about himself (although it was to his dad and not actually to him, but still), and has provided support and advice even when Stiles felt like he didn't deserve it. Danny even taught him magic, how to harness it and control it.

Danny had given a lot to Stiles. But then...so did Scott, once upon a time. Scott had been his best friend, his brother, for the better part of a decade. And yet it took one night, one girl, for him to pass Stiles over and say that he was not important to him. 

_"I couldn't let him hurt the two people I care about most."_

_"This has nothing to do with you."_

_"Not everything is about you."_

Scott's words stung deep. Even after all these weeks, they replayed in his head daily. He never thought it was all about him. He never wanted that. Stiles just wanted to feel important, to know that his best friend still needed and wanted him around. For a long while he knew that he was being pushed aside, away from Scott's priorities, in favor of Allison and her affections. Stiles was happy for Scott, honestly he was, but he was also pissed that Scott would stoop so low and put a girl who has done very questionable things, along with have a mostly psychotic family, first. It made him feel angry, hurt, used, and like he was nothing.

He once thought he and Scott were inseparable. That it would be the both of them against the world. How wrong and naive he was.

Yes, he trusted before. He trusted for years, but he never took his trust to this level. He's known Danny for the same amount of time he's known Scott. The difference being that they were never really close. Sure, they got on fine, but with Jackson being Danny's best friend, they never went beyond pleasant exchanges and small conversations. Looking back at everything it was like his world had been turned upside down, even without the added bonus of the supernatural. Don't even get him started on Lydia.

He trusted someone he once thought to be his family, who would always have his back. How is he supposed to do the same for Danny? Let's not forget about the fact that Stiles is dangerous now. He is a mage, something he was still figuring out. He's already had two creatures come to town looking for him, wanting to kill him. The wraiths who wanted to eat his soul, therefore his Spark, and the Elves, who wanted to kill him and use his eyes as a trophy, all for the glory. He wasn't quite sure if the Harpy was drawn to town because of him, but he figured it was safe to say that it was a possibility. 

How many more monsters will come to town looking for him? How many more times will he have to put his life on the line to protect the others? How long before someone else gets hurt because he attracted the wrong kind of attention?

He could trust Danny to help him, he already has before. The boy had a good heart, Stiles knew that, even his magic could sense that. His magic reacted anytime Danny was close, almost settling, curling in his chest like a ball of warmth, not pacing about or moving under his skin, prepared, waiting for something to happen. When Danny was around, he felt secure. It was the same thing when his dad was near. He always felt safe with his dad. Now that he knew that his dad knew the truth, always knew the truth, yeah he was still getting used to that, he felt better, lighter. He felt safer knowing that his dad was there for him. He has made mistakes, they both have, but it didn't mean they didn't love each other. Mistakes or no, that will never change regardless of the past.

So maybe he should look towards the future. In the end he did trust Danny, as much as he feared that and was anxious about it, he owed Danny after everything he has done. Now he just had to get used to that. He had to let go of his fears.

Easier said than done.

Luckily there was nothing else to be done right now. In a slight haze he distantly heard Deaton say for all of them to go home, that it has been an exciting enough night for everyone and rest was needed. Stiles couldn’t agree more but he wasn’t sure about the exciting part. It was easy to say that he was exhausted, but that it had been exciting about magically binding himself to Danny for the rest of his life, therefore making Danny more of constant in his life, that was in no way as exciting as it should be.

He vaguely was aware of Danny coming to stand beside him, pulling him up off the ground with Lydia’s help. Stiles could see the new scar on the boy's arm, a mirror image on his own. Their skin were equally marked and equally tinged pink from wiping the blood away. Stiles scar was pink and white against his pale skin, while Danny's was just pink and set against his tanned skin. As they helped Stiles stand up, a little wobbly on his feet, together they made their way towards the door. He remained upright, with Danny and Lydia staying close to make sure he didn’t fall over. After that it got more bleary. 

He couldn't make out much through his eyesight going foggy but he managed on less. His eyelids felt heavy, but he didn’t complain when he was pushed into the back of Lydia’s car with Danny for the drive back. He felt drained. His magic like a faint flicker inside him, exhausted, but still content. His whole body felt like lead, warm and cool at the same time, his mind growing foggy as time continued to pass. He felt Danny nearby, his hand on his shoulder, steadying him, holding him back into the seat so his head was laying comfortably against the leather. If anyone had been talking since they left the clinic, he was not aware of it. 

When they got back to his house, he was pulled from the backseat, Danny holding him steady as they walked towards the house. His dad was not home... _shocker_. So it left them alone, able to head up to his room without having to provide an explanation so soon. Stiles would count that as a small blessing. Upon entering the house, Luna was waiting for them. The white and black German Shepherd, coming up to them to give them licks and nuzzles with her body. Slowly they all climbed the stairs to his room just to pile into his bed after kicking off their shoes, or in Lydia's case, unbuckling the heels, and laid down for the night. No one bothered to change out of their clothes, too tired to care at this point. You would think a twin sized bed would be small for three fully grown teenagers and a full grown police dog, but it was nice. Lydia was closest to the wall and Danny was closest to the edge, Stiles in between them both, Luna had hopped up to snuggle with between Lydia and Stiles' legs, laying her head on Stile's calves. Lydia laid facing Stiles, her hands clasped underneath her cheek as she started to doze off. Stiles was facing her and Danny was facing him, nearly spooning.

It was silent for some time after that. Stiles was slowly getting lost in the darkness. The smell of strawberries and earthy cinnamon filling his nose. He felt warm and comfortable. In his room, with his two friends, he felt safe. He should have known that feeling wouldn't last.

"So are you going to tell me what you and Lydia talked about earlier tonight?" Danny whispered behind him.

Stiles kept his eyes closed and had to force himself to not stiffen at the memory of what he had found out. He still was angry with Derek. He was pissed actually and hurt. He needed to tell Danny, but right now he didn't know if he would get through it without crying. He still had no idea why Derek would keep this kind of information from the pack. What would be the reason for something like that?

On top of that Stiles was tired. A bone deep exhaustion that he caused him to want to sink deeper into his mattress until he fell through it and never surfaced.

"Not right now," Stiles said back quietly so to not wake the sleeping Banshee beside them. "I...I'm still wrapping my head around it."

"Is it bad?"

Stiles couldn't help the snort that followed. "It's definitely...something." He didn't know what to say about it, but he knew the message would be clear to Danny. It was something that made his emotions roll through him, making his magic do the same, causing a fiery turmoil inside him. Stiles didn't know which of the many directions he could go with everything he now knew. It was like he had a compass spinning in front of him, never stopping to point him the right way. It was all chaos and indecisive decisions that he could make. He just didn't want to make them, for reasons that spoke to him, even in his nightmares.

"Will you tell me," he could hear the concern and the trepidation in the boy's voice. "When...when you can?"

The uncertainty in Danny's voice made him turn around, carefully to not jar Lydia in his movements. He turned so he could face Danny. The boy was looking at him, but was staring at the scar, the Celtic knot, that was now branded into his skin. The same as Stiles'. Stiles couldn't tell what the emotions were on Danny's face. He could make out timidness, but Danny was trying to hide that. Everything else was a guessing game and Stiles didn't have the energy to decipher it. It made his heart clench and his magic swirl inside his chest like the fluttering of little wings, uneasy and unsure.

He reached out his right hand, putting it on Danny's shoulder, giving it a good squeeze, trying to provide more confidence and understanding than he really felt. He knew that if Danny really wanted to know what caused him to be upset even before the whole 'someone or something is trying to pull my magic and therefore me into the Astral realm', he would push more. He would even go to Lydia and get answers that way. But Danny was asking because he wanted to hear it from Stiles. He wanted Stiles to talk to him and not keep it inside. 

Stiles would never get used to that. Someone else, who wasn't his father, actually willing to listen to him. To talk to him. Scott had been that way once, but no longer and it left Stiles feeling like maybe he never should have confided in someone else who wasn't family. Real family.

So he squeezed his friend's shoulder, trying to convey what he could, trying to push the grogginess from his mind just a little more to get his message across. "I promise."

He really meant it. He really did owe Danny a lot. Stiles could give him explanations. He just had to open his mouth and say them.

But not tonight. Obviously they were too exhausted to think clearly, so the explanations would have to wait. So that was how they fell asleep. Curled up near each other, trying to draw comfort from the warm bodies beside them, shutting out the world, ignoring the horrors that they have come to accept.

He knew it was just wishful thinking.

His nightmares always came. Every night they came and every night Stiles would wake up. Thank whichever deity in any religion who caused him to wake up before he screamed or thrashed about like he sometimes does. He has gotten good at biting his own tongue to keep himself from making noises. He woke up still between Lydia and Danny. Both still fast asleep, although they both looked like they were in the middle of dreams themselves. Danny had his brows furrowed, his hand slowly gripping the sheets next to him and Stiles. Lydia completely still, breathing evenly, but her eyelids were flicking with the movement of her eyes beneath them. 

Luna was at the foot of the bed, looking at him with her soft brown eyes. When their eyes met, she shuffled a little towards him, stretching of her neck to reach her nose to him. He lifted a hand to her snout for her to lick and he scrubbed his fingers through her soft fur, rubbing behind her ears. Stiles took comfort from her, trying to calm down from her being near.

Wiping his slick brow, Stiles edged out of bed, careful to not wake his friends. Getting up and heading out his room, he tried to shake the lingering images from his head. All to no avail of course. It never helped, but he still tried, hoping that it would work one day.

_"You didn't protect us, Stiles."_

_"Why did you leave us? Why have you not found us?"_

_"We could be dying? We could be hurt?"_

_"We are hurt."_

Erica and Boyd's voices echoing in his mind as he went into the hallway. He headed downstairs. Not having to worry about his father being anywhere or hearing him. The house was quiet and empty said for his friends and himself. Making his way to kitchen he held himself steady over the sink, looking out of the window that, the moon's glow illuminating the backyard and the thick treeline of the Preserve.

_"You failed them Stiles."_

_"You are pathetic, weak...human. You should never have gotten involved with wolves."_

_"They don't care about you."_

_"You are nothing to them. Just ask Scott."_

Gerard joined Erica and Boyd. It was constant. He could always hear his voice even if his face didn't join in the nightmare. The condescending sneer, evident in his voice. The cold laughter that usually followed always sent shivers down Stiles' spine. He was powerless in his dreams. Just like his was in the Astral plane, he had no control. Forced to let them play out. 

_"He's right. You are nothing to them. Just a toy, just to be played with."_

_"I enjoyed our time together. I want to do it again and again. Let me play with you."_

_"I liked your screams. The tears in your eyes. Your smart-mouth tongue. So much spirit."_

_"I will crush that fire in you. I will let it bleed out of you when I cut into your skin. I will take joy in hearing you scream again."_

_"You are going to be my new toy. I can't wait to make you mine."_

Grant's voice grated on every nerve ending in his body. His magic screamed at the same time his mind did at that voice. He saw more of Grant than Gerard. He heard and felt the man too. His warm breath on his skin, places it should never be. His hands touching him, rubbing and pinching, gripping and scratching. Stiles could still feel his hot, clammy hands on his hips, groping his bare ass, drifting to an area he never imagined anyone touching without his consent.

But this time. There was more. There was another face that came with the others. The face of a Hawaiian boy, with dark hair, dimples on his face that showed when he sneered at Stiles. Dark eyes cold and distant. Danny was there, standing next to Grant and the betas. Looking at him like he was the scum of the universe. Nothing but a ant beneath his shoe.

When he spoke, he sounded exactly as he looked. Sending a feeling of dread and unbelievable guilt through his body. 

_"You cursed me."_

_"I tried to help you. I tried to care. Yet I get this in return. My freedom...taken away from me."_

_Stiles could feel the burn on tears in his eyes at those words. The harsh intake of breath that froze midway to his lungs._

_"How could you think this was okay? How could you think I wanted to be bonded to someone like you?_

_"You're a murderer. You've killed people. You've killed and you will keep killing. And you know what else...you've killed me."_

That is what woke him up. Sweating and nearly about ready to burst into tears. His heart was beating fast and his ears felt like they were ringing with the echoes of their voices. When he closed his eyes, their faces were all he saw. Menacing joy from Gerard, sadistic lust from Grant, and anger and hurt from Erica and Boyd. He should be used to it by now, but he's not. They haunt him. They haunt his mind.

And now, Danny joins them. Bitterness and coldness written all over his face. He couldn't go back to sleep after that.

Turning away from the window he sat on the couch in the living room, twisting his phone in his hands. Luna had followed him downstairs, jumped up on the couch at some point, curled up with her fluffy tail around her already asleep again. Her ears twitched at his movement when he sat down, but otherwise she remained still. He smiled at her black and white form, wishing that his life was like hers. He had taken his phone, intending to do some browsing or play some of his app games to pass the time when he noticed a text message on the screen. It was couple hours old, but it was still unread.

Clicking it open he saw it was from Ryan.

**Ryan: Hey. Do you want to get dinner next Sunday? My treat for the coffee?**

Stiles didn't know how to respond to that. It was a step up from a coffee meet, which they actually didn't have. He missed that when he was in the Astral plane, but tried to make up for it with an apology coffee. That's what that was. It was an apology coffee. Not a date? Was it?

He was at work during that time. That didn't count. Although they did spend over 30 minutes talking. It could be considered...no, no it was not a date. That was just a quick meet. But now Ryan is asking him. He is asking him to meet him, while in public where he is off. He is asking. He is treating it like repayment for the coffee even though dinner in no way equates to the price of what a coffee would be. 

Without much more thinking, Stiles sends back a message, never mind that it is four in the morning.

**Stiles: Sure. I'm free.**

If he stays up the rest of the night, downing four cups of coffee, reading through his mother's book, trying to not think about his upcoming week, or...date, or his nightmares, then no one else but him needs to know about it.

 

*** * * * * * ***

The week leading up to school starting back was next to boring. Stiles spent most of the time reading and going over any way that could help find Erica and Boyd. The problem always kept coming back to the tracking spells. No matter how many times he did one, or had what he believed was a meaningful object to them to help with the connection, his magic would swirl around the town, telling him they were here, but never where exactly. 

It was frustrating. He even tried to create another spell, like he did with the instant language translator spell he made, but even that proved fruitless. He was starting to think that there was something else going on. Like maybe his was being blocked? He didn’t know. He had read about certain wards and concealment charms, but he never really felt them. Or at least he only felt his own. If something or someone was blocking his magic from locating the betas, he wasn’t sure. He was still new to all of this. He can study all he wanted, but there was not much 'experiencing' going on.

He spent most of the week sorting through his books and rummaging through the internet trying to find anything reliable, anything he hasn’t tried. Lydia had come over a couple days to help for a few hours, but between the both of them they would wind up back at square one. Other times he would wander in the woods, map in hand trying to find the Nemeton. Also a lead that proved unhelpful. No matter how many hours he spent shuffling in the woods, he still wasn't finding the tree. He made sure to keep his magic around him, sending it out in waves to help alert him of anybody nearby, like the pack for instance. He didn’t want them catching wind of him and then asking a dozen questions that he didn’t want to answer. 

He still met Chris every morning for training, except for the day after they had gotten back from Deaton's. Stiles was thinking of going to see Chris that next morning, especially since he hadn't slept after his nightmare, but he decided against it in fear of Lydia and Danny finding out he was gone. He didn't want them to know yet about his training with Chris. He wanted to keep that, just for him for now. He had sent a message to the hunter earlier that morning to tell him of his predicament so he said he'd meet him the following morning. 

After that, the week had continued. It had him looking forward to his meet-up with Ryan on Sunday, just to give him something new to do. His energy was building and his magic was burning inside him, signaling that he was getting bored. He needed to expel that energy at some point when he found the time. There was just nothing exciting going on.

That is until Lydia came by the Saturday before school started, with Danny in tow. Stiles still hadn't talked to him about Derek and what he found out, he had been putting it off. Stewing in silence. The Hawaiian boy was carrying one of Lydia's Prada bags, who was wearing a sickly sweet red lipped smile that Stiles knew his research was over for a bit.

"No," he said plainly.

"We didn’t say anything," Danny said quickly, looking both parts confused and offended. 

“Whatever it is, still no,” Stiles said looking between them both.

"You may be magical, but I doubt you can tell what we were thinking,” Lydia said confidently, still with that smile on her face.

Stiles shook his head, turning back to go into the living room. Trying his best to ignore their attempts at whatever he knew they were going to try and persuade him to do. "I don’t care what you were thinking. I can tell it’s not something I will want to do because you are both here.” He said flopping back down on the couch and grabbing the large volume he was reading.

"Ouch," Danny said after they followed him into the house.

They both stood before him. Lydia proud and beautiful in a cream colored dress with a black leather belt around her waist, red Prada bag on her shoulder to match her red heels and her red lips. Her hair was in soft curls cascading down her back, giving her another reason to be the bell of the ball. Danny was beside her with a fitted long sleeve dark blue shirt that showed off his torso, dark jeans, and boots to top it off. Stiles had no doubt he wore the long sleeve to help hide the newly engraved symbol on his arm. 

Even Stiles was wearing a long sleeve shirt. He hadn't told the others about his developing nightmares. After they came back that night from the clinic, he feared going to sleep again. He feared seeing those faces, especially Danny's. The little sleep has gotten since then was plagued by them. Like always, except now it was worse. And it was Stiles' fault. 

In the week since, he hadn't gotten twenty-four hours of sleep. He could tell his friend's noticed at change. They didn't pressure him by asking and Stiles offered up no comments.

"Don’t get me wrong," he said, catching what he had previously said, "it’s not the reason you think. It goes without saying that when you both are here, Lydia with here Prada bag and you Danny with your wallet means you want to do something."

Danny shrugged, hiding a small smile, now understanding where Stiles was going with this. "What do those two things have to do with anything."

Stiles gave him an unimpressed look. "Well Lydia doesn’t go anywhere with Prada unless it’s either new so she wants to make an impression or go to the mall to show it off to the masses. You Danny, don’t take your wallet with you unless you are usually spending more money than I deem necessary. You usually bring your ID and cash that’s it."

"How the hell do you know this," Danny asked incredulously while Lydia shrugged her lips.

"Son of a sheriff, dude, remember?"

"Well in either case you would be right," Lydia said, dropping the ignorance, but not the smile. "We are going shopping."

Stiles was silent for a few beats, looking between the both of them as they looked back with expressions of expectancy. "Kay have fun," he said, turning back to the book balanced on his lap.

"You are coming with us," Lydia said with a roll of her eyes.

"I don't need more clothes."

"No you don't need any more plaid and logo t-shirts," she said with an arched eyebrow and hands on her hips. "Everything else is fair game."

Stiles looked at them from under his eyelashes, trying to not get both annoyed and happy at the same time. Annoyed for their pushing and happy because they want to do something with him. Something _normal_. In public. "Look no offense, but I am not interested. Nor do I want to be around people today."

Lydia sighed dramatically while Danny said, "Stiles the shirt you have on has blood stains, not to mention a tear in the sleeve. And if I recall a few of the other shirts you wear have either stains or tears."

"To be fair, most of those tears were not my fault."

"That means its time for a new wardrobe," Lydia said with a clap of her hands.

"No," he said quickly. "I like my wardrobe, it is comfortable, it is wearable, and it is-"

"Plaid. You do need more than plaid."

"Don't encourage her." Stiles said with a glare to Danny, it didn't have any heat though.

"Stiles school starts tomorrow-" Lydia began only to be cut off.

Stiles shrugged. "And?"

"And we go school shopping every year," Lydia said gesturing to herself and Danny. "You can't start school with last years outfits. That's like saying a knock-off is Prada. That is not going to happen on my Gucci watch. New clothes equals new attitude. So your coming too."

"No," he said without looking up from his book that he wasn't reading.

"What?"

"Whats your point," he asked now. He was starting to get ticked off. But it was for different reasons now. Reasons that he has started to think about the closer school got to starting up again. "So school starts again for us, just like any other year. You think a new set of clothes is going to make it better? Make it so Coach puts me on the field again. Harris stop acting like a complete ass? Stop homework from becoming tedious? Help me break out of my shell. Make me see the former friends that I had _given more_ than enough for just to be cast aside?"

"Stiles-"

"I know you have the best intentions," he said stopping whatever Lydia was about to say. "But I am simply not interested in the impressions for the first day of school."

"So don't be," Danny said with an unsure look. "Don't do it for school. Do it for yourself."

"What do you mean?"

Danny shifted his weight, putting his hands in his pockets. "This summer has...been a change for you. You are a mage, magic at your fingertips. While the summer started out like shit, you still...you did a lot. You stood firm for yourself. Last year ended shitty...so start this year on a high note. You deserve to rub it in everyone's faces."

Stiles couldn't help the quirk of his lips. "Everyone's? Or just the packs?"

Danny shrugged but with a gleam in his eyes. "Does it matter."

Stiles looked between the both of them, trying to assess if this was a good idea. He barely registered he was rubbing his hand through his hair, making it stick up a little more. It was a nervous habit, just like biting his lip. Two things he had to stop. He understood what they were saying. They were trying to not only include him in a traditional thing that they did every year, but tell him it was a new start.

They were right that last year ended in a shit-storm, but did it mean that this year would be better. Did he even deserve that? After everything he had gone through this summer, everything he had done, here and in the Astral realm, did he deserve to make a new start?

He didn't have his friends from last year. He didn't have Scott. He didn't have Allison, although Stiles still wouldn't really consider themselves friends. He hasn't seen the girl all summer. And as far as he knew, no one else did either besides Chris and Lydia. The young huntress was taking a long time to reflect on everything, especially after siding with her psycho grandfather, all for it to be for a lie. Stiles could understand that. He knew about being lied to. He knew about being betrayed.

Maybe a fresh start was what he needed. Stiles was not the same kid from three and a half-months ago. He barely could remember that kid anymore. That kid had thought about a long range of things going from comics and games, to classes and losing his virginity, to Scott, the pack and his dad. Now take some choice subjects from that list and there wasn't much left.

Now it was about the only three people in his life he was more grateful for that than anything else, his beloved Luna, the two missing betas, about his magic and everything he has learned, the supernatural that plagued every corner of his mind (both what he knew and what he learned) and his constant stream of nightmares and fears that cycled through him every day and night. And possibly a sapphire eyed guy, with a bright smile, and pink-tinged ears. That was next to everything. There was nothing else.

No comics, games or movies. None of his previous passions. No Scott. No Allison. No pack. Not a care about classes that never challenged him. None of it seemed important anymore. So much has changed in a short time, now his priorities were changed. They were now more self-fish. More about the things he truly cares about and strives for. More about the people who really matter to him.

"Alright," he said suddenly, trying to smooth back his hair. "I guess it couldn't hurt. It's probably time I got a haircut anyway so might as well."

"I don't think so."

"Nah."

They had both said at the time, staring at him with wider eyes. "What now?"

"Leave the hair," Lydia said with a small smile. "It looks better longer. It's a nice change from last year also. This year is about changes, new things. So I say keep it. Danny?" She said looking at the Hawaiian boy beside her.

He nodded. "I say keep it too."

Stiles ducked his head to hide the slight blush of embarrassment from them both. Compliments was never easy for him to take. Maybe because it was rare for him to receive any. He couldn't remember the last time someone gave him a compliment. Sure the ones he got mostly were about his brain or his knack for seeing patterns better than most, but as of late they have started to turn  and be about his fierce loyalty and his use of magic. Never had anyone commented about his looks. Well no one but his mom.

Turning his thoughts away from more morbid and depressing subject he nodded at them. "Alright I guess." 

With that and a little bit of squeak from Lydia, they both hauled him up from the couch, telling him to go change his shirt quickly. Stiles moved a little woodenly but followed their orders. After changing his shirt into one that had no holes or blood stains on it (at least not that he could see at first glance) he made his way downstairs. 

He didn't know what made him think of it, but he brought down Luna's leash. His thought process was if he had to go endure people and the outside world then why not bring Luna along. It had been a while since they went anywhere besides the end of the street. He knew the girl had energy to spend. Coming down with the leash in hand, immediately caught the German Shepherd's attention because she started to hop a little and whine, wagging her tail in quick flicks.

At Danny's and Lydia's dubious looks he rolled his eyes and clasped the leash to the dog's collar, before returning his gaze to them. As Lydia was about to say something, he just raised his eyebrows at her. She couldn't say anything really. The mall may be crowded with people, but it was pet friendly so long as they were well behaved and on a leash. Luna was both.

Realizing a losing battle, Lydia clamped shut and then turned around to head out the door with a chuckling Danny behind and beaming Stiles behind him.

"She better not get fur all over my car," Lydia said over her shoulder. If it wasn't for the small twitch of her lips, Stiles would have thought she'd be against bringing Luna all together.

They piled into Lydia's car, Stiles sitting in back with Luna who sat delicately on the seat, her tail still thumping against the seat. Lydia had opened the window for her, still blasting AC for the rest of them, but letting Luna still have a bit more freedom. This made Stiles want to give the strawberry blonde a kiss on the cheek. He was already feeling a little better about all this. Of course it had to change the moment they walked into the large place.

So many people everywhere. Even in the parking lot where it took them nearly ten minutes to find a parking space. It was like everyone had the same idea Lydia had. School starting, better get a new look. It was ridiculous. But then he had to remember why he was here. Wasn't he doing the same? Wasn't he treating himself with a day out with his friends, looking to redefine himself? Looking for a different start?

Taking a deep breath, he tried to find a way to center himself. He was getting jittery, nerves now showing in the way he held himself. He didn't know why since he was in a public place. It wasn't like his entire school was present, watching every move he made just to save it for the first day of class to tease him with it later. It was people, most of which he had never seen before. People he didn't know and those who didn't know him. He wasn't going to get recognized by someone and then have to make small talk with them about his summer.

 _And anyway, who cares,_ he thought to himself.

People's reactions to him had stopped bothering him a long time ago. His spastic movements and scattered mind was enough to cause anyone to look at him twice and think about his oddity. He took it in stride when he was a kid, only having Scott as his only friend. Now with Danny and Lydia beside him and Luna (who got so many coos already from people) he didn't care about what others saw. Let people think what they want. It wasn't like Stiles would stay here in Beacon Hills forever.

Would he?

Shaking his thoughts free of that, saving them for when he was alone, he moved with his friends through the mall. The occasional person wanting to reach out and pet Luna who took it all like a prize-winning champ. Stiles could swear that if the roles were reversed, he would have bitten someone's hand already. As they moved from store to store, they did their shopping. Of course that led them to having more bags than they really could carry, but they pushed through it all. Stiles wanted to stop after the first few shirts and two new jeans he got, but Lydia wouldn't have it. He didn't have more money to spend. She rolled her eyes at him and produce a platinum Visa card from her purse, giving him a smirk.

"Good thing Daddy is paying," was all she said as if that explained everything, which it kind of did since her dad was one of the richest in the county next to Jackson's parents.

With that they kept shopping. Lydia pulling them into all the expensive stores. Trying on everything that caught her eye. Neither Danny or Stiles bought anything in those stores but they endured Lydia's demands to try clothes on. More often than not they were waiting on her to finish up. In the end she would try on twenty different articles of clothing and then purchasing only a few pieces. It didn't stop Stiles' eyebrows from rising at the prices. Then off they went to the next store for a repeat. Danny had bought a couple things himself, shirts and new jeans and even a pair of new tennis shoes which Stiles didn't even see him pick out anywhere.

They had eaten lunch at the large food court before heading back out shopping. Luna still at their sides, wagging her tail and happy to be out and about. They spent the whole day shopping, laughing, joking, trying on things that were either hideous or really nice. Most Lydia would try it all on, but Stiles and Danny would too a couple times. They spent a good amount arguing too. Lydia trying to coax Stiles away from a button down plaid shirt that he saw in a window. She had to pull him away from the store, not bothering to go in. They argued for five minutes before Danny broke them with a wry grin, pointing them to another store where Lydia immediately saw a Chanel jacket that she cooed over for the longest time, trying to find other stuff in the store to go with it. Danny gave Stiles a wink after that, effectively settling the argument by distraction. Stiles didn't know whether to be impressed or intimidated.

Either way he pumped Danny's shoulder in a silent thanks. 

There was one point where Stiles was just looking through windows of stores as they passed, Lydia stopped to look at a dress in a window, debating on whether or not it was worth going in to look at. Something about it was similar to another dress she had, but this was a different color, you know Lydia stuff. She was talking with Danny over it who looked about ready to lose his eyes with the force he was rolling them every time she turned around. Stiles was just looking at the mannequins in the window when he saw one with a particular red jacket on it.

It wasn't just a red jacket, it was blood red and... _leather_. It was simple in it's look, with minor stitching down it's front. It had zipper pockets in the front and on the sleeves for the loosening or tightening the cuffs. It wasn't overly shiny leather, but dulled making it look more rustic and practical. The jacket even had a hood. A genuine leather hood with what looked like soft material on the inside. Stiles had an itch to run his hands over it just to feel it beneath his fingertips, see if it was as soft and as sturdy as it looked. He must have been staring at it for a while since Danny and Lydia came up to him at some point without his notice.

"Try it on," Danny said beside him.

Startled he nearly jumped away from them. "What," he nearly choked out.

Danny gestured to the jacket again with a nod of his head. "Try it on."

Stiles stared back at the jacket for a few seconds. Lydia did the same taking it in with a calculating look. "It's actually not bad. I like the color."

"Yeah," Stiles found himself saying.

"Go on ahead and see," she said to him, hefting her purse back on her shoulder, while carrying the large number of shopping bags.

A part of Stiles wanted to, but then, for whatever reason, he couldn't bring himself to move. He had never worn leather before, never had the opportunity. He thought leather was tacky and if you weren't a biker or badass then you shouldn't wear it. Being around the pack, where you pretty much had to own leather to look the part, he had gotten used to seeing leather on people that pulled it off as easily as breathing. Not to mention the fact they were all 'badass' werewolves, creatures of supernatural, stuff of myths and fantasy for the human population, well it made sense. With him, he thinks it would look awkward and out of place. He stared at it for a few moments more before he shook his head. "Nah," he said. "Leather is not my thing."

"What's wrong with trying it on though," Danny asked with an arch of his eyebrow.

Stiles nearly spluttered for a response. "Nothing," he said honestly. "I just don't think it would look right for me. Not to mention I don't have the money for it."

Danny and Lydia both seemed to want to argue, but Stiles forced himself to turn away. Putting the jacket out his mind, he walked away with them in tow. If they shared a look behind, both silently communicating, then Stiles never saw it.

When they were in their last store of the day, Stiles was waiting outside for Danny and Lydia to come out. He was sitting on one of the benches littered through out the mall for people to sit on. Usually it was used by disgruntled husbands and boyfriends, waiting for their significant others to finally come out of the stores. Stiles supposed he looked the part of that too even though it was far from the truth. He sat there with Luna petting her head as she cuddled up next to his legs licking at his hand and putting one of her paws on his bent knee. 

That is when he heard a voice call his name. A voice that made his insides drop and his heart clench at the same time.

"Stiles. It's nice to run into you hon."

"Hey," he said, straightening his back as he stood up, meeting the woman's eyes before him. "Ms. McCall, it's nice to see you too."

Melissa McCall stood before him, a smile on her face. She had a three bags in her hand, two from Life Uniform and another one from DSW. Her hair was down in dark waves, framing her tan face. Her dark brown eyes were warm and bright as she looked at him. She had on normal clothes today, jeans with a purple top and open toed wedges that showed maroon painted nails. Upon seeing her, Luna gave a little bark, then proceeded to try and get her attention by pawing at her pants, wagging her tail, gruffing and whining at the same time.

Melissa's smile widened as she gave the German Shepherd a few pets, pursing her lips in a kiss as Luna tried to reach to lick at her face. "It's been a while," she said sweetly, still petting the happy dog between them. "What you doing here? School shopping like everyone else?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I had to get some new clothes. Had too many with tears in them and stains." 

The words _blood stains_ and _tears from supernatural claws and shenanigans_ went unspoken, but it seemed that Melissa had put it together if the way her expression went more concerned was any indication. She didn't voice it though as she straightened up to look at him more fully.

"Well good. As long you didn't get more plaid." She said with a grin. Seriously what is it with people complaining about plaid? What was wrong with plaid?

Stiles leveled her with mock offense. "You don't like my color schemes. I have you know plaid is the new Dolce."

"Oh I seriously doubt that and I will doubt that to my grave," Lydia said, catching them off guard. They turned to find Lydia coming out with another two bags, balancing them with the dozen more bags that she was carrying. Danny was also carrying a couple of her bags in one hand, while his own items were in another hand. Damn the girl knows how to shop.

"Ms. McCall it's nice to see you again," Danny said, ever the gentlemen, flashing his dimples as he acknowledged the woman.

She returned with a smile of her own. Was Stiles imagining the faint pink of her cheeks? "It's been a while Danny. It's nice to see you too. And you Lydia. A school outing is what I see I interrupted."

"Not at all," Lydia said kindly. "We were actually just finishing up."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, we have been here all day. All day. A whole seven hours to be exact."

Lydia rolled her eyes at him, shifting her bags a little. "Please you had fun."

Melissa laughed at them. "Well enjoy it while you can since school starts again on Monday." Despite all of them being in the top five of their class, all three of them groaned, which made Melissa laugh more. "Is Scott with all of you?"

At the mention of her son's name, Stiles froze, his smile nearly dropping from his face.

He knew this was a subject that would be brought up, but it still felt like a bucket of ice water was dropped on his head. He briefly wondered if Ms. McCall knew. If she knew what Scott had done and if he had admitted to her that he worked with Gerard. All knowing it was to protect her, but at the expense of his best friend. By the warm and curious look in her eyes, she didn't know. He didn't know if he should be disappointed or resigned. Of course Scott probably wouldn't tell his mom. Hell it took months for her to learn about the supernatural. It also took time for her to accept it all and that her son was a werewolf. Stiles knew it was hard to take, but you wouldn't guess it took her time at all based on how she looked now, like she bounced back without any worry.

Her tanned face did have wrinkles in it, just like his father's did. Whether that was from her job that kept her on her toes for many long hours or the antics that her child and his friends got up to, Stiles didn't know. He could guess it was both. But if she was anything like his dad, the supernatural antics was winning the battle.

Saving him the chance to respond, Danny took of the the excuse. "No he ain't here today. Something about Issac and him doing something today and all."

That was good lie. Danny spoke it evenly with no falter. Stiles knew he had a lot of practice hiding secrets. He saw Danny flick a quick glance to him, but then back to Melissa, who seemed a little concerned or disappointed by that answer, but she brushed it off quickly. She turned to Stiles instead asking him the next question that he hoped to not have to answer.

"How you doing honey? I haven't seen you around the house all summer?"

He wanted to tell her then and there what happened. The dark chocolate brown eyes filled with a mixture of warmth, home, affection, with a tinge of concern was nearly enough to make him choke and let it all out. His dad may know the truth about what happened or at least some of it, but he never pushed. He never asked too many questions where Stiles would just shut down. He was surprised that Noah hadn't told Melissa anything yet. By her reaction to him today, she had no idea. He was incredibly grateful for his dad in those minutes. Stiles didn't want to upset Melissa. Even though it was her bone-headed son who hurt him, she didn't. 

Stiles didn't want to be around his former best-friend. He did miss him and the fun times they had, but they hadn't had them in so long, even before the whole Gerard thing that he couldn't remember the last time they actually hung out. He couldn't remember the last time they did anything together that wasn't for a supernatural reason. All of his hanging out and movies, games, and conversations were taken up this summer. Mostly by the two people standing beside him. He saw Scott once this summer, just once, and it wasn't by his choice. And judging from how Scott reacted, it wasn't his either, but it didn't stop the oblivious puppy smile he gave, evidently giving away that he thought they were both on good terms.

It couldn't be farther from the truth. He hated that, but at the same time, he welcomed it. If there was one regret to ignoring and avoiding the rest of the pack this summer, it was Melissa. Stiles had missed seeing her. She was like a second mother to him, has been for so long that he missed having her around. Despite his initial hesitance towards her after his mom died, where he didn't want to get close to another mother figure, he did so anyway. She always welcomed him into her house, always humored his spastic ways and chattering conversations. Melissa was a great mom, anyone with eyes would be able to tell that. Even to others she was like that. Unless of course you pissed her off then it was like she could destroy you with a glare.

"Yeah," he said, taking comfort from Luna beside him, who seemed to sense his little mood change. "Yeah I'm sorry. It's been a hectic summer."

Which wasn't exactly untrue. She narrowed her eyes on him just slightly, seeming to sense he was hiding something. Melissa was uncanny that way. But she didn't call him out on it. Instead she smile at him, giving a little nod. "Well come by soon. I kind of miss the sleep overs."

That tugged on Stiles' heart strings, but he schooled his face to not show it. "Yeah, yeah I will. I'd like that."

"Anyway," Melissa said with a sigh. "I better get home and get some rest. Just had to get a few more scrubs since my last few pair have been ruined."

"It was good seeing you ma'am," Danny said gently, pulling who helped pull Lydia aside for a moment to help her adjust her bags since it looked like she was struggling.

Ms. McCall beamed at him, but looked back at Stiles. He was about to say bye before she caught him up in a hug. It was a surprise that he barely saw her move. What was another surprise was that he didn't flinch from her touch. He smelled cocoa butter and jasmine from her. The same scent he smelled from her for so many years. It nearly made his eyes water from the memories, the twisted turn his stomach made at where he was in his life right now and what had led up to it. The warm embrace of her arms sending his magic curling into contentment inside him and suddenly he felt like he had taken a deeper breath than he had in a long while.

In his ear she whispered to him, "Be good sweetie. And don't be a stranger." Pulling back she gave him another kind smile then reached a hand up to ruffle his hair a little. "Your hair is getting so long. It suits you."

With that she gave him a pat on the cheek, before waving bye to Lydia and Danny. One final pat on the head to Luna and she was walking away. If Stiles didn't know any better, it almost felt like she was taking her warmth with her, leaving behind a chill he didn't know he was so used to. The other two came up to him, aiming two identical looks of questioning and maybe a bit of concern. Shaking his head, he turned to them, suddenly wanting to go home.

They didn't say anything to him as they all piled out into Lydia's car to leave, nor on the way home. For once Stiles welcomed the silence and was happy the others allowed him that. When they get back to his house. They climb out, Stiles grabbing his bags, trying to hold onto Luna's leash so he can lead her out of the car and back inside. Upon walking up to the house, all of them balancing bags between them all, Stiles stops.

If anyone was watching him, they would think he either forgot something or just got turned into a statue. 

He stood stock still, his sight going unseeing. Stiles was still aware of everything, but he wasn't looking anything. It was like he was staring off into space, vision blurring at the edges. His senses dulled, all except one. His magic seemed to engulf him in waves and then constrict in his chest. He kept feeling that off and on. Not to mention he felt like he had to go somewhere. He felt a tug inside his chest.

It wasn't the first time he felt that sensation. While it wasn't unpleasant, it wasn't comfortable either. He supposed he could ignore it. Brush it off and keep walking, but he knew it would be pointless. His magic seemed to get the same feeling, moving around his body and pushing up against his skin from the inside, curling in his chest before pushing at him again like he was being nudged by a ball of hidden fire.

Luna stood at his side, standing there with him while her ears twitched. Her tail had stopped wagging at some point and she was looking at him with her big brown eyes. A soft whine escaped her muzzle and then she whipped her head around, looking in the direction of the house, her ears perked up. Stiles followed her gaze only he wasn't looking at his house, he didn't even see his house. It was the trees that he saw, the ones behind his house, one of the many starts into the Preserve. At the sight of the woods it seemed the feeling got stronger, his magic itching underneath his skin, pulsing at him.

Stiles didn't even see Lydia or Danny ahead of him, stopping to look at him. He didn't even hear them call out his name. What he did hear was a rumble.

It wasn't loud or earth shaking, but it was enough that Stiles could hear it. At the sound his magic erupted into a frenzy inside him, surging through his torso and limbs, coating him in warmth and energy. It seemed to burn through his veins, reinforcing that pull in his chest that he felt. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Luna's flick towards the woods, her tail stiff as a board, pointed towards the ground, and the fur on her back stand up just slightly. A small whine came from her throat, followed by a growl.

He knew what that was. He knew what that sound came from. Judging from the confused and concerned looks on his friends, he could guess they didn't hear anything. Stiles would contemplate that later, instead his body moved, his mind already made up before he really thought about what he was doing. He shoved the bags he was carrying at Lydia and Danny, fumbling his keys out his pocket before throwing them at Danny along with Luna's leash.

"Stiles?"

"What are you doing? What's wrong?"

Stiles shook his head at them, already moving towards the Preserve. "I'll be back," he called after them.

"Where are you going," Lydia yelled from behind him over the Luna's barks at him.

He pretended to not here as he started to run, fueled by the energy in his body. He couldn't explain it to them, he didn't even know how to explain it. Stiles just had this feeling, this pull, and then he heard that sound. The sound that the others seemed to not hear. It was a sound that maybe he shouldn't have heard either, but he did. A part of him was thinking he was an idiot, but the other part of his was responding to that sound, letting his magic guide him as if knowing he would want to respond. Maybe he did.

Whatever it was, it grated on his nerves, shooting an uneasy feeling through him.

"Stiles!" He heard Danny behind him, but he didn't stop.

He floored it then, barreling into the trees, now unleashing his magic, shoving it into his legs to propel him forward. Muttering a spell to enhance his speed and his stamina. He had a feeling he would need it. Ignoring the calls from behind him he ran into the darkening woods, never mind that it was evening and the sun was setting. Stiles heard his feet stomping and crunching on the forest floor, the sounds of wildlife around him as he ran, followed by another rumble, this time louder. It could have been mistaken for thunder, but Stiles knew better. There maybe by clouds in the sky, but nowhere near enough to signal rain.

No, not thunder at all. It was a roar, a sound that he recognized even in his nightmares. It's haunted him before. And it was distant, but it was steadily getting closer the longer he ran.

 


	19. It Begins Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! Here it is. Longer and more packed with fun. Now we get to the juicy stuff. You may recognize some thing which leads to what is to come. I apologize in advance, but fair warning, yes there will be more hurt and more angst before the loving starts. Lol Let me know what you think! Till next time :)

He stumbled through the trees in his haste. His magic pulling at his chest. He couldn't completely explain his rush, except that he had to follow. The first roar had died down after a couple seconds of his leaving Lydia and Danny at this house, but then it was happened again. This time louder, or rather closer. There was another one, and another, these sounding different. Not as deep or as menacing, but still it caused his magic to twist, making him change direction following a new direction a little to his right. The sounds rattled him, sending his nerves electrifying. He pushed harder on his magic to make him run harder. After a few more moments, he heard nothing. His stomach dropped at that, but he refused to feel anything else, at least not yet. He didn't know where he was going, but he didn't care. Eventually he came across an area where the nature was less crowded together, the trees smaller and younger in age. He couldn’t have expected his what he was looking at.

The pack was scattered about. Lying in heaps and muffling grunts and hisses of pain. All in various stages of bloody, bruised and broken. Good news is that it was all werewolves, the bad news was that they were all hurt. He didn’t know what to expect when he followed his magic, feeling it pull at him like a tight rope around his chest. He just felt the sudden grip and knew felt something nearby that got his magic’s attention. He couldn’t put it to words, he didn’t even understand it.

A small, guilty part of him was saying to turn around and head back the way he came. After all his magic was pulling him to this place, although he didn’t know why. Now he felt his magic start to settle, no longer like a tugging but more like an unsettled feeling. His magic was moving and swaying inside him, almost like it was pacing. It wasn’t just because of the pack it was because of something else. He wasn’t sure what it meant though. The other part was telling him to help. To check everyone. All the blood and the grunting, was making a chill run up his spine. The few members were moving very slowly, breathing hard and in quick breaths. But there were two, who were unresponsive, not moving at all. He could see Peter and Derek on the farther side, still and quiet. Derek had his face turned into the ground, his body twisted onto his side, Peter was up against a tree, slumped against the bark, an arm behind his back, legs curled in a heap. Stiles could see blood running down the side of his neck, staining his shirt.

Stiles moved without much more thinking, heading to the closest pack member first. It was Isaac, who was cradling his arm and had a cut over his cheek where it was steadily seeping. However, when Stiles moved he felt a cold feeling shoot up his spine, twisting his gut and making his skin crawl. Upon Stiles' arrival his eyes went wide either with surprise or fear. Isaac immediately looked around, as if waiting for the worst to happen. Fear of whatever had done all this, thinking it was still around.

Before Isaac could say anything, Stiles spoke, shaking off that feeling he had suddenly, “Easy, easy. Let me look.”

Stiles was far away from being a doctor, but he had read enough in his spare time and learned a few things from Deaton to make sure that when it came to injuries for the supernatural, that all the tools you needed were mostly already part of the body. 

"It’s not bad," Isaac said roughly, as Stiles looked at the cut on his cheek, finding another on his leg that wasn't that deep. Then slowly taking Isaac's arm away from his chest to find that his arm was broken, the skin looking red and turning purple, sitting at a funny angle that looked painful. 

"Why ain’t you healing then?"

"I am. It just will take longer," the werewolf said as he readjusted himself so his shoulder was off the ground as he sat awkwardly.

"Do I need to ask what happened," even though Stiles was fairly positive he knew the answer already.

Isaac looked at him for a moment as his eyes flashed with pain, a slight gold to the outer edges. "The Alpha pack. They ambushed us."

"Why?" Isaac just shook his head in response. Stiles was still pretty sure he could guess, but that was all he could do. "Alright your healing needs a jump start," he said as he gingerly held Isaac's arm with him.  "One that wasn’t affected by an Alpha. Are you ready?"

He has read enough to know that an Alpha werewolf was stronger and faster than beta's, but when they caused an injury to a beta they took longer to heal. In order to make the heal start faster, another injury had to take place in order for the body to sense another cause of harm to it. Pain is what was needed. Unfortunately. 

"No but do I have a choice,” Isaac grunted out.

Stiles shook his head at the boy. "Nope,” he said as he broke Isaac’s finger on his injured arm in a quick jerk, hearing it crunch loudly even to them. 

"Jesus, fuck.” Isaac cursed as his eyes flowed yellow, gritting his already lengthening canines to bite back his growls.

Stiles quickly looked away from Isaac to the other's before saying, "Okay that’s done. I’ll be back." Stiles went to Jackson next. He was holding his leg awkwardly and it had a long gash down his thigh and into his calf, tearing away the skin and the fabric of his athletic shorts. It was bleeding badly, flowing on his light skin like it was part of a slasher movie, and Stiles was thinking he should be about ready to pass out if he keeps losing blood. and his shoulder looked dislocated. Upon Stiles approach he growled. 

"Don't touch me Stilinski. I don’t need any help."

Stiles wasn’t going to listen to this. He had things to do and Jackson can be a jackass without being hurt to fuel that attitude anyway.

”I don’t care," he said stepping up to him, "you need to start healing before you lose too much blood. Frankly I owe you this anyway. It'll happen one way or another.” With that Stiles moved fast stamping his foot down on Jackson’s hand lying palm down on the grass, breaking the bones beneath. 

Jackson howled and roared in pain and anger. His claws coming out along with his canines. Immediately he tried to get up to take a swipe with his good hand at Stiles but missed when his leg prevented him from moving much before he hissed in agony.

Moving on Stiles came to Scott. He didn’t talk to him nor did he make eye contact. He wasn’t really surprised to see Scott here, much less the others. He was surprised at the four long slash marks down his chest, the broken wrist that looked mangled and shattered, and the small tree branch sticking out his side. Quickly he pulled the branch free and then with one swing used it to break Scott’s leg. If he put a little of his magic into the swing to make it stronger then no one would know except him. He didn’t pay his former best friend any attention after that, ignoring the grunts and whines behind him as he headed for Peter. 

Peters looked to be out cold, but Stiles figured this was better if he didn’t see it coming. He took Peter’s hand, watching and hesitating just a little as he saw the blood running from his head down the back of his neck and into the shirt again. He then snapped the wrist over his knee by slamming it down. Peter jolted, a low snarl building in his chest, brightly glowing blue eyes finding purchase on Stiles. Stiles had to force himself to not flinch away even as Peter almost raised his other claws hand to his throat, just to stop it midway. When he saw his claws pointed at Stiles, he pulled his hands away before grunting in pain at his wrist. The man was breathing heavily, sweat coating his brow, but he still managed to look at Stiles with a little smile.

"Thanks," he said softly.

Stiles got up to head to the last person. When he got to Derek, he saw that the Alpha was in far worse shape. Given that the man hadn't moved since he had arrived, it was safe to say he was just as out of it as Peter was if not more so. Stiles slowly rolled him over off of his side so he could get a better look. Upon seeing him, his chest was torn open with four large claw marks. There was also three tears into his face, angled more to the left side. One scratch line with down over his left eyebrow and eye, reaching down to his jawline while another went from his forehead down the ridge of his nose. The other went from forehead to jaw also but was a little more shallow. Blood was pooling out of his body, drenching his shirt and soaking his jeans. As Stiles leaned closer, he could hear his breathing sound ragged and broken.

It would be a lie to say that he wasn't going to enjoy this part. He was still looking at the man who had thrown him away, told him to never associate with his pack only to be dragged into it again all to learn that Derek has been keeping it a secret. Holding Stiles at bay, but using his services because he couldn't admit that he needed help, but wouldn't swallow his pride to actually allow it freely. So yeah, Stiles was going to enjoy this next part.

He quickly reached for his magic, making sure that no one else was watching before he stepped back just a little out of Derek's reach. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he sent his magic forward, unleashing a little of his emotions onto the Alpha. Derek's body convulsed for a split second before you heard the audible _crack_ as Stiles forced both legs to break. Adding a finger in there as well, Stiles didn't care which finger, at this point he was doing it for the satisfaction.

And damn did it feel good.

He backed up further as Derek awoke with a roar, eye a bright scarlet, darting around only to come to a stop on Stiles. Stiles tried to keep his heart steady at the sight of Derek looking at him, he also kept his face impassive. Yet his mind was running a mile a minute. _So that was what I indeed heard. I knew that was Derek's roar that brought me here_ , he thought.

Derek seemed confused to see Stiles, followed by a few other emotions, before he realized he was in pain. Taking that as his cue, Stiles turned around to head back to the betas, leaving Derek to heal. He reached Isaac ignoring the grunts and groans of Jackson and the whimpers of Scott nearby. Isaac was standing and seemed to be healing fine, already cradling his arm, but was flexing his wrist and hand for mobility. The cut on his cheek was slowly fading away to be just an angry ed line, but it wasn't bleeding anymore, scabbing over in some spots. It would be gone within the next couple hours.

"You alright," Stiles asked him.

Isaac gave a slow nod accompanied with a grimace. "Yeah. Thanks. I'll be fine by tomorrow I think."

"Good," Stiles said. "Now mind telling me what happened that you were all ambushed."

"It happened so fast-"

"Isaac," they both heard Derek growl from a few feet from them, trying to heave himself up in a more sitting position. He was glaring at Isaac his eyes tinged with red, but mostly hidden behind the uncomfortable pain that he was trying to mask.

Isaac looked like he wanted to say something more, but turned his eyes down. Stiles knew what was happening and he turned to Derek, leveling him with a glare of his own. "Something you want to add, Hale?"

"I have this handled," Derek nearly gritted out whether at the surname or Stiles' tone, the boy didn't care.

"Clearly. Does playing dead count as having it handled?" Stiles asked with a cock of his head, arching an eyebrow in challenge. Stiles failed to notice the smirk on Peter's face as the man joined him and Isaac, who had a limp in his stride.

"Well it's better than being dead, like you would have been," Jackson sneered before Derek got a word in.

"I'll remember that the next time you are bleeding out, pup," Stiles said with a blasé tone. "I won't help next time."

"I didn't need your help." Jackson said with a growl at the nickname, getting up from the ground as well. "What the hell are you even doing here? You ain't pack worthy to be useful anyway."

"Shut up Jackson," Isaac said beside followed by a flash of Scott's eyes at Jackson.

Stiles had to congratulate himself for not flinching at the words. To anyone else he may not have reacted at all. A small part of him felt comforted by Isaac's support to him, even if the boy didn't dispel his pack mate's views. Stiles knew the betas didn't know about Derek's decision to kick Stiles to the curb. They just thought it was Stiles unwilling to help for his own reasons, whether selfish or not, all to keep his father safe. As much as it still hurt to hear those words, instead of anger, he felt more of a cold indifference settle over him, his magic burning inside him and fueling him. The whole time Stiles' eyes never left Derek's.

It was a staring match of whiskey brown meeting hazel green. Stiles didn't move a muscle, but he showed every emotion he could in his eyes. Derek's face went from a near scowl to one of silent surprise. Stiles knew his eyes were near glowing, his emotions wanting to shine through, reflecting his magic at his mood. It would make his eyes glow with their hidden fire, turning them molten topaz. He had to keep that at bay, but he did let a little shine through, just to get the satisfaction of seeing that in Derek's face. Knowing that Derek could read his face, see every bit of the blame, bitterness, anger, sadness, and rage reflected back at him.

Stiles wanted to unearth all of the unspoken words between them all. He wanted to let it all out, to shove it back in their faces. Especially Scott's and Derek's. But not yet, he would let it stew longer. As much as he wanted to see their surprise, shame, and maybe even guilt, he couldn't let it out yet. He wanted to save it. In his burning cold state, in that moment, he wanted to drive the point home when it was the _perfect time_. When it would hurt the most, just so they could feel how he felt for the past few months. 

He may feel guilty or ashamed himself for those thoughts later, but right now he didn't care. When Derek was the first to break the gaze, albeit begrudgingly, Stiles turned those same eyes onto Jackson, releasing just a little more of the annoyed anger inside him. Jackson's sneer fell from his face as they locked eyes.

When Stiles spoke, his voice was distant but controlled, "If I recall you never wanted to be pack anyways Jackson. But after your little 'transformation' you came along with your tail tucked firmly between your legs. I think it's safe to say you _don't_ get to speak for anyone here."

With that, Stiles turned away from Jackson, who was staring at him with wide eyes mouth set in a grim thin line, not having anything else to say after that dressing down. Ignoring the boy otherwise, Stiles turned to Peter, who had come up to stand nearby, knowing the man would tell him what he wanted to know. If Derek wanted to be a prick, he would turn to the person who has taken lengths to annoy the last of his family as best he could. 

"What happened," he asked in a voice more gentle than before. Peter may not be his favorite person, but so far the man has not gone out of his way to make Stiles feel even more inferior. Stiles knew he wasn't inferior. He knew he was stronger than he was a few months ago. He had magic, he had training, he had friends (real friends) who cared about him and wanted to be around him. Those who let him help rather than push him away. Those who knew he was not helpless. Stiles was not inferior. He was a fucking  _mage_.

Peter seemed to think along the same lines as Stiles. Except for the magic part and all. Peter's lips gave a slight twitch, but he held a glint in his eyes. "The Alpha pack ambushed us, when we were all training." Derek growled behind Stiles, but they all ignored him as Peter kept talking. "They came at us on all sides. We didn't even know they were near until they were already up on us."

Stiles took this information in before he spoke again. "How did none of you not smell them or hear them?"

Jackson huffed behind him, Peter speaking over the beta, "Alpha's can mask their scent from betas, even some Alpha's if they are skilled enough. As for not hearing them, I don't know."

Stiles nodded, having read that somewhere before, only now remembering it. Stiles could feel his magic stirring inside his chest, aching and nearly trying to nudge it's way out of his body. Aside from the anger and annoyance at being around the pack, he felt antsy. He slowly let his magic out, softly letting it get a sense of the land, like sending out feelers. He treated it like a sixth sense, letting it roam over the grass, twigs, trees, and rock around them, trying to find anything that normal senses couldn't see.

He didn't know what he was looking for, but he just had a feeling. Luckily his magic seemed to understand his questions, giving voice to a few answers. Stiles felt his magic heat up, pulsing around them all. He got the sense back of supernatural beings, power that signaled animalistic, primal in instincts. He knew it meant the Alphas, so he kept going. His magic sense the mood of the pack; unease, anger, shock, fear and anxiety, but then he felt something else. It was something he never felt before. It was like his stomach dropped suddenly, replaced by chill that sent goose bumps up and down his skin. He nearly felt the urge to scratch at his skin, feeling like tiny legs were crawling up his body. His magic seemed to shrink away from the feeling the closer he got to the edge of the treeline he came through. It was the same feeling he had before, when he came and found the pack.

It was a cold dead sensation, mixed with a sickly sweet malevolence, followed with hints of lust, hatred and greed. It nearly took Stiles a minuted to compose his thoughts, hoping that those were not his own feelings he was sensing. He brought his magic back to him immediately, mentally shaking his head from what his magic felt.

"Alright," he said quickly, not caring if he blanked out for a moment. "Well maybe standing out here, in the woods, where they may come back, is not the best idea. Did you all run here," he asked, mainly looking at Peter and Isaac and completely ignoring the other three.

Peter and Isaac nodded. "We came from the loft," Isaac said, even though that is what Stiles suspected.

"Okay, well anyway," he said with a quick breath, "I'm going to go, so...yeah."

With that Stiles made to turn around, leaving the wolves to stare at him like he was either crazy or an figment of their imagination. Stiles was almost about to head back into thicker part of the trees when Scott spoke behind him.

"Bro, where are you going," he asked a little breathless.

Stiles nearly rolled his eyes at the term 'bro' from Scott. He had to bite his tongue from saying 'Home dumbass.' "Home?" he said instead as he turned around, feigning ignorance.

"Are you out of your mind," Scott asked with wide eyes.

"No it's just his natural stupidity, McCall," Jackson hissed as he tried to flex his still healing hand.

If Stiles pushed his magic a little to make Jackson's hand hurt a little more by shifting some of the still broken bones as he was flexing them, then no one noticed and it made Stiles feel better. 

"You are not going into the Preserve by yourself," Derek said authoritative.

"What do you think I was doing when I found all of you," Stiles asked with an arched brow.

Derek huffed, covering up his discomfort from his still healing torso and face. The cuts on his face distorting his grimace even more. "Apparently pursing a death wish."

"Well if it comes true, then you would have nothing to worry about then would you," Stiles said what could be said as an innocent smile, his eyes never leaving Derek's. It was his eyes that said what he really meant and the undertone of his voice that spoke the highest volume. Derek seemed at a loss of words. Thankfully it was Peter who broke the tension and was fast enough to prevent Scott from asking what Stiles meant.

"I'll walk you back." Peter had said already moving towards him. Stiles was thankful for the opportunity it leave that he said nothing as Peter approached. With a quick look at Isaac who gave a shy smile and a little nod of his head, avoiding the other wolves, he turned around and head into the forest with Peter beside him.

When they crossed the line of trees into denser woods, Stiles felt that same chill run down his spine, a rush of emotions flooding through him too fast to identify and leaving behind a nauseous feeling that made his mind fuzzy. Shaking it off, but saving the questions in his head for later, they walked in silence through the forest. Stiles knew the way back to his house, choosing to follow the way he came, sensing with his magic towards the place he called home. He could feel it in his mind, similar to his wards. Like little lights, burning in his brain, ready to guide him. The difference was the barrier that Stiles felt from his wards, like an elastic wall, stretched taut and prepared to snap anytime something came through. His home didn't have that, just a warm feeling of security, family, and belonging in his mind. It was something he could always drift towards. His magic knew it and he welcomed it often.

"Do you mind telling me why you came out here by yourself, knowing the dangers that decision posed," Peter asked after some time of walking. Most likely waiting for the other to get out of hearing distance.

Stiles shrugged. "Needed to clear my head," he said trying to keep his heart steady.

"You had to do that in the Preserve," the older wolf asked.

"It was a choice I made," Stiles said letting his annoyance through again. "I don't have to ask permission."

Peter snorted beside him. "It is still Hale property."

"So I have be reminded before, but frankly I don't care considering how _everyone_ or _everything_ else seems to be roaming around in it anyways," he said without looking at Peter. It was a little bit of a low blow, but he could help it. He was still angry, but that didn't mean he had to take it out on Peter. At least not most of his emotions. Peter may have been the cause of a lot of things, but not his standing with that pack or even his own nephew.

"I have missed your winning snark," Peter said behind him as Stiles stamped a little ahead.

Stiles didn't know what to say to that so he said nothing. Instead they went back to their silent walk. Peter humming a tune softly under his breath, but otherwise quiet. Even his footfalls on the wooded ground were quiet. Stupid werewolves.

They kept going, until they could see lights shining through some of the trees. The sun was setting more and more with each passing moment and the Preserve was being covered with dark blue and black shadows, bringing the early appearance of night. The sky was turning a pale blue closer to the horizon, mixed with light yellow. The pale blue fade to a darker blue, then to black as the night continued to approach. When he crept closer and closer to the edge of the woods, Stiles could see his house through the trees. The familiar white siding and dark green shutters on the back windows coming into view through the trees. 

They walked through his back yard, crossing around to the front of the house. Stiles saw that Lydia's car was still in his driveway along with his Jeep. His dad still wasn't home, most likely won't be for another couple of hours. When he was about ready to reach out for his door, he was stopped by a sudden hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see Peter standing there, his blue eyes on him and a soft smile on his handsome features. Even though he still had blood on his shirt, along with dirt stains and sweat, all smeared on his skin as well, he still seemed to pull it off easily. Stiles was not used to that soft look, especially not from Peter. This was the same man who had gone psychotically crazy, blood thirsty, and murderous in the name of revenge for his family. This was the man who threatened his friends as well as himself, attempted to kill them all, and even tried to tempt Stiles into becoming a werewolf, all to gain more power to unleash on his enemies. This was the same Peter, right?

"Thank you for your help," Peter said. "You saved our asses back there, even if it was stupid of you to be out there alone to begin with."

Stiles shuffled his feet for a moment under Peter's seemingly honest words. "I did what was right."

"Like you always do," Peter commented with a cocked smile, his mischievous eyes still soft. "Why were you in the woods, really?"

Stiles couldn't tell him the truth, that was a given, but he could tell him part of the truth. The truth that Stiles has been trying to reveal for the whole summer. The one they all have been trying to do. "I was just trying to find Erica and Boyd."

"We will," Peter said gently, making Stiles see the worry in the man's face, but also the conviction that they would find answers. That they would find the missing betas. Stiles was strangely comforted by that sight. "Together we will."

Stiles couldn't resist the roll of his eyes just then. It was just like instinct now.

"I know you feel a bit detached towards the pack, but-" Peter began.

"Detached." He scoffs shaking his head, the bitterness rolling off of him. He could only imagine what Peter's nose was picking up. Stiles supposed he could have put on the glamour charm again, but he just didn't care right now. "That's a nice way of putting it."

"I think-"

Stiles wasn't going to stand by and listen to excuses. Not from Peter especially. A small part of him appreciated the man's effort, which is more than he can say from any of the others, but he didn't want to be pitied. He didn't want to hear about anyone's reasons.

"No this is about what I think. I think I have given quite enough to this  _pack_. If that is what you want to call it. I don't need excuses Peter, not from anyone. I have heard these excuses already and they have lost their weight. I am not pack, plain and simple. Your nephew saw to that despite any bit of evidence to the contrary. So my question to you is, why has he not told the others? Why have I been kicked out, thrown away like the useless human I am made out to be, only to be brought back in because of the pack's problems?"

He was throwing all caution to the wind at this point. Stiles knew Peter wasn't stupid. He knew Peter heard what Derek said to him that night. The others may have been preoccupied, but Peter was watching. He saw it all. He didn't care what Peter's view was on his pack membership or not, all he cared about what why Derek has seemed to say nothing about it to anyone else. Apparently it seemed like Stiles was _choosing_ to stay out of pack affairs, all in hopes of keeping himself and therefore his dad safe, which made sense, but also was complete bullshit. It was made out that it was Stiles' decision to walk away.

When Peter stared on in shock or in thought, Stiles continued. "You were there when Derek stated he wanted me to stay away. Why haven't you said something? Why has Derek seemed to forgiven Scott for what he has done?"

Peter spoke up then, finally finding his voice. "Derek has not forgiven Scott. He is still angry with him, but he does recognize he needs help. Erica and Boyd are his first priority, that is all Scott is here for."

"Are you sure about that," Stiles asked with a disbelieving look.

"I am." Peter said meeting his eyes. "My nephew has not looked past that night and dear Scott has not made the effort to show shame or remorse of any sort."

Stiles stared at Peter for a few long moments. He didn't know what to expect from the man. Sure he could be lying, something he was sure Peter would do for the greater good or for himself, but still. Peter met his eyes with each word and has not flinched since. Given his statement, Stiles thought there might be some truth to it. After how Scott acted that night, uncaring to Derek or what his actions would do to the Alpha, how unflinching he was in his belief that he had done the right thing, it made sense that Scott had not owned up to his mistakes. Stiles certainly knows Scott hasn't reached out to him to ask for forgiveness. If he was being honest, Stiles was beginning to think Scott may never ask, at least not without help from someone else.

"Then why? Why do Jackson and Isaac not know?"

"What makes you think they don't?"

"Because if Lydia didn't know then neither would they," Stiles said crossing his arms looking unimpressed by Peter's evasion. Jackson may not care, but Isaac seemed to think that it was all Stiles' choice and Derek was not disputing that.

"So that's why she's been more prickly."

"Huh?"

Peter waved away his question. "I don't have an answer to your question. I had thought that-you know never mind. I will not make excuses for my nephew, but I also will not speak for him."

They stood in silence for a few moments. Stiles didn't know what to say to the man. On the one hand he wanted to argue more, but on the other he couldn't find it in himself to anger the man and have him get upset at his last living family member. So Stiles let it drop, rather welcoming the calm. A part of him didn't want to go inside just yet, knowing he would have Lydia and Danny waiting for him with questions and demands. He wasn't really ready to face that kind of music, but part of him was happy that they care enough to ask a million questions. Chancing a glance at Peter he saw the man averting his gaze. Looking down at the ground or at the house, like his front door was the most interesting thing. The longer he looked, the more Peter seemed to shuffle his weight from side to side, his blue eyes going focused and unfocused.

It was when Stiles was about to reach for the door that Peter spoke. "I don't share his view though. Derek's, I mean."

"What?"

"I don't support his decision," he said looking at him square in the eye. "What he said, what he did was...you didn't deserve that."

Stiles swallowed. He refused to think back to that night, already knowing what images would flash through his mind if he did. Instead he focused on his breathing, pulling his magic towards him even more, drawing comfort from it. He didn't know what to say or even what to think about Peter's words. Never in a million years would he have guessed that Peter would say that to him, not tonight or any other night. He always thought Peter was so cunning, wanting to look out for the bigger, better deals to make himself advance. Sure Peter had showed kindness to him in the past, even during their last meeting, but Stiles honestly thought it was just for show. Peter once offered Stiles the bite, in his crazed, manic, murderous state, and Stiles turned him down. He wondered why Peter offered him even then, before Stiles discovered his magic, before nearly dying many times since, before the Derek became Alpha and before the pack was even established. He wasn't sure what to think about that. Was it Peter's desperation to get a pack? If so, then why ask him when Peter never gave Scott the choice? 

"Um...uh...," Stiles stammered, trying to think of something to say.

Peter chuckled beside him, carefully putting his hands in his jeans pockets. "I just thought you should know." Peter looked like he was about to turn and go, but Stiles' curiosity got the best of him...again.

"Why?" Stiles asked suddenly. "Why are you telling me this now?"

Peter shrugged beside him. "Because I thought you had a right to know."

"It doesn't change anything."

"Maybe not, but it doesn't make it any less true." Peter said quietly, giving Stiles a crooked smile, so different from the usual knowing and menacing smirk Stiles is used to. Who the hell was this Peter Hale and where did he come from? Peter took his moment of silence as his time to leave, heading down the steps and off down his driveway. Peter turned partially back to him saying, "I know you can take care of yourself Stiles, as you have proven, but no more tempting chance."

"Meaning," Stiles asked from the door, seeing how Peter's eyes shimmered from their normal blue to beta blue in the late evening light.

"Meaning no more running in the woods alone, good intentions or no, please," the wolf said as he kept walking before turning back and heading down the street, pulling what looked like his cell phone from his pocket and leaving the conversation at that.

He stood on the his doorstep for a little while longer, staring off at where he saw Peter disappear, still speechless on what just happened. He knew that was not a promise he could make. It was a promise he didn't owe to Peter or to anyone to make. He had a job to do, a promise he made to _himself_ that he wanted to keep first. So no, he couldn't do that. Not yet. Shaking himself out of his stupor he fumbled behind him for the door handle before slowly pushing himself inside his house. Thinking, as he did, that he was in for a night of long explanations and apologies for Lydia and Danny and contemplating what to make of the seemingly Peter Hale clone he has come to meet.

 *** * * * * * ***  

His date with Ryan was going really well, surprisingly. Stiles wasn't expecting things to go to shit and him spilling his food and drink over himself and setting the table cloth on fire or anything, but he wasn't it to seem so...easy?!

He had spent most of that Sunday with nerves racking through him, unsettling his magic to make it seem like fluttering butterflies inside his chest, mimicking the butterflies in his stomach. He spent the day cleaning the house, nearly going from room to room, vacuuming, dusting, and polishing woods, wiping down glass, just to go back over it with the vacuum and duster again. Stiles knew he was being irrational and letting his head and nerves get the better of him, but he couldn't help it. It wasn't until he noticed that his magic was lifting multiple objects into the air behind him in his room that he forced himself to settled down.

He practiced some meditation, something Deaton had told him he needed to do, just to help him calm his emotions, clear his mind enough to not feel so energized. Stiles had noticed that his energy always diminished when he used his magic a bit, helping him to relax a little and not fidget so much. It took some time for him to actually realize that he wasn't taking his Adderall anymore. His half-empty bottle upstairs in his room on his nightstand, untouched and nearly hidden behind his lamp and the small tower of books on the edge of the small piece of furniture.

It made him do a double take when he finally noticed, wondering when he had actually stopped and not coming up with a definite day. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like he needed to take it. More than once though, he did wish it was a pills to knock him out and into a dreamless sleep. When he woke up that morning it was to yet again to the sounds of screams, cackles, angry outbursts, and the feeling of hands and wet blood on his body. So he spent the whole day distracting himself. Reading, cleaning, reading some more and cleaning.

Before he knew it, it was time for him to get ready. He had scrubbed his body and decided to wear the clothes he bought at the mall with Lydia and Danny yesterday. He nearly winced at the thought of the both of them. They were definitely not happy with him last night. It took him nearly an hour to explain everything to them. An hour to unravel the whole story and then waiting for the to say something for nearly five minutes. When they finally did, they told him he was an idiot for not telling them about the feeling, for leaving them behind to run into the woods by himself, and an even then proceeded to worry about the pack and the fact the Alphas had attacked them.

Lydia had left shortly after, texting Jackson as she left, cursing to herself about how he was so dead when she got to see him. Something about not telling her he was attacked even hours after the incident. She sped away in her car, heading towards no doubt Jackson's house to yell at him in person.

After she left Danny was there still disappointed in Stiles, telling him to not do that again. Luna was beside them on the couch, whining in approval in Danny's position. Stiles promised he wouldn't, even though he had no doubt that he probably would. If he had the feeling again, the feeling of his magic trying to tell him something, he would no doubt follow it. He would be a fool to not listen to his magic reacting to something. Deaton has taught him to trust his magic, that his Spark would be a set of eyes he never thought he would need. It would take practice and time to understand, but to never ignore it. Danny ended up leaving a while later, both of them eating a frozen pizza, too tired for either of them to cook, before heading home, needing to get up early to help his grandmother in her shop.

Stiles wished he had asked for their advice, all before his date, but he didn't know how to. He had never done this before. To say he was nervous was obvious. Settling on a pair of dark jeans, a white button down shirt that covered his arms, and a pair of dark brown boots Lydia insisted he get, he proceeded to the bathroom. He tried to tame his growing hair which now had a couple more inches to it since the his buzz cut months prior, he ran a little left over hair gel he forgot he had in his vanity before brushing his teeth, and applying deodorant and a small splash of his favorite cologne. It was subtle and woodsy.

He met Ryan at the local Mexican restaurant, El Rancho Grande. The guy wearing dark black jeans, dark blue button shirt, with boots as well, his sapphire eyes standing out even more and his brown hair artfully mussed. When he saw Stiles, his lips tilted up into a shy smile with his cheeks turning pink. Stiles couldn't help but smile too, before they went inside, Ryan holding the door open for him, something Stiles couldn't help but think that his dad would give Ryan brownie points for. 

They got a booth that wasn't secluded, but wasn't in the middle of the whole restaurant. Their waitress was polite and Latina, with long dark hair and sweet smile as she looked at the both of them. After ordering their drinks, they looked through the menus, neither speaking much, not knowing what to say. It wasn't until, they both reached for the same chip to dip in the queso bowl, the chip snapping in half for them both, that they both chuckled. From their conversation flowed easily.

After they ordered their food, taco salad for Stiles and a chicken burrito for Ryan, they kept talking. It was going really well, Stiles thought. Odd, right? Stiles talked about his dad, Danny and Lydia, Ryan talking about his family back home, his closest friends at the station (Lori and Drew). When Stiles brought up Luna, he didn't miss Ryan's eyes lighting up, sharing that he too had a dog, a chocolate lab named Churro-you know because he is a chocolate lab and he is sweet-Stiles laughed. They shared picks with each other, both agreeing cooing over puppy eyes looking up for the cameras.

"So you brought him from home," Stiles said, looking from the phone to Ryan.

Ryan nodded, putting his phone on the table. "Yeah, I didn't want to leave him at home. Plus he was always more my dog anyway. He also gave me a reason to not live in a dorm room while I go to school."

"You go to the community college nearby," he asked, sitting back in his seat, eating another chip from the bowl.

"Yeah," Ryan said. "It wasn't my first choice, but it was the most readily affordable. I just wanted to get a start on what I wanted to do."

Stiles nodded, feeling akin to that thought. He did feel the same way. He was a junior this year and when he became a senior he was applying to all of his choice of colleges. Colleges out of this town.

"School is starting soon for you isn't it," Ryan asked tentatively.

Stiles nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"You seem happy about it," he said with a light chuckle.

Stiles shrugged. "I'm rather indifferent towards it."

"Funny. I pegged you for a guy who likes to learn."

"I do," Stiles said quickly, fighting back a blush as Ryan's eyes widen at his quick enthusiasm. "It's just other things that I'm not looking forward to."

Ryan's bright eyes seemed to dull for a moment, looking away as he seemed to get the unspoken words that Stiles was leaving out. Thankfully he didn't push the subject as Stiles looked down into his lap. Instead Ryan changed the the topic of discussion. They stayed for over two hours, talking and eating, then drinking their drinks as people came and went around them. When they finally decided to leave it was nearly ten at night. Stiles insisted he paid half the bill, which Ryan agreed to after Stiles' unwavering persistence. They walked out in the cool night air, the smell of the Mexican grill still in the air, along with the scent of the the motor gas, asphalt, and fresh mulch in the restaurant's flower beds. 

Ryan walked him to his car, both of them talking amicably about their favorite comics. Apparently they both like Marvel and DC equally. When it came to the movies, they agreed that Marvel was marginally better. What Stiles found out late was that Ryan like the Captain America movies, better than Iron Man.

"What," Stiles exclaimed. "How could you?"

Ryan shrugged. "They are better to me. And I find Stark rather annoying."

Stiles couldn't help the gasp. "Take that back."

Ryan smirked at him, but shook his head. "I will not. He is an egotistical ass, and while he may be a genius, you wouldn't know it based on his selfish manner of thinking."

"Let me guess you favor Captain America for his martyr behavior and selfless acts."

"Better to be selfless to help others than to help oneself before realizing your errors too late," Ryan said matter-of-factly. His blue eyes on Stiles but with no argument in them, just plain honesty.

Stiles stopped after that comment. It was made sense. Yet he couldn't bring himself to admit how much it made sense. More than once he wished he could talk just a little about the supernatural with one that night. Just to have someone else to talk to. A neutral party, someone with no personal interaction in what Stiles and the other had been through. Stiles knew about what it meant to be selfish and selfless. He thought he had been selfless a lot, especially when it came to pack. Putting his life on the line, fighting battles that posed dangerous to someone like him. Helping them all with so many things, both supernatural and normal. But then he also had been selfish as of late. Keeping secrets from Danny and his father, even Lydia. Selfish to not tell the pack or Derek off, mostly to spare their feelings at the expense of his own. Selfish to keep them, until they would inevitably spill out, most likely when he didn't want them to.

"I guess so," Stiles said. He found he couldn't argue about that. But it wasn't about superheroes anymore. He was quiet for a moment before Ryan spoke.

"Can...can I try something," Ryan asked hesitantly.

Stiles was a little uncertain about this, but nodded his head anyway. He watched with baited breath Ryan, moved his hand from Stile's, slowly bringing it up to his neck, inching his way closer. They were about the same height, but Ryan had a couple inches on Stiles, his piercing blue eyes mesmerizing and soft as he looked at Stiles. He moved almost in slow motion, as if giving Stiles time to pull away, silently asking with each second if this was okay. Ryan leaned forward completely before finally brushing his lips with Stiles'.

Stiles stood there in shock. He knew this was coming, he saw it unfolding before him the whole time, yet it was still a surprise to him. This may have been a date, but even then, somehow his mind never went to kissing Ryan tonight. He was nervous about everything else, but not this. It shows how inexperienced he was. It was like his brain was short-circuiting. He didn't have mobility in his arms or his feet. The only thing that moved was his lips and his ever thumping heart in his chest.

Ryan's lips were soft and warm against his own. Gentle and tender at the same time, like he was still giving Stiles the chance to pull away or to push his back at any moment. Show any sign of discomfort. It wasn't forced or rushed, dirty or wet, just dry and chaste. As far as first kisses go, it was rather amazing, Stiles had to admit. After a moment, Ryan pulled away, a silent question in his eyes and blush on his cheeks that was evident even in the light of the street lamp overhead of the parking lot. Stiles couldn't help but stare for a few beats more before breaking into a soft smile himself.

His mind came back to him and the only thing he thought about was, wow, someone like Ryan actually kissed me. _Does that mean Ryan likes me? Really likes me? What now? Does this make us a couple? Is he my boyfriend? What will dad say? Holy shit, what will dad say? Danny and Lydia?_

 _He is still smiling at me._ _Why is his blush adorable?_

Ryan answered for him by giving him a peck on the cheek before saying, "Thanks for tonight."

"Uh..um..yea...you too," Stiles managed.

The guy chuckled before giving Stiles' shoulder a squeeze before backing up a step, giving Stiles a little more room to breathe. "I'll see you later, okay. Let me know how tomorrow goes."

Stiles nodded without much thought, still adorning the small smile on his face, the heat in his cheeks returning. "Yeah, I will."

Stiles watched at Ryan gave him a wave and a bright smile before heading to his car across the lot, leaving Stiles alone to collect his thoughts. When he got into his Jeep on wobbly legs he sat on the cab in silence. He didn't know for how long until he got a message on his phone, pulling it out to see a new text from Ryan.

**Ryan: I had fun. Maybe next time we can go mini-golfing.**

Stiles smiled, a smile that actually crinkled his eyes. His heart jumped a beat and his magic seemed to ignite at the rise of happiness and nerves in him again. Stiles hadn't been mini-golfing since he was a kid, but he didn't care, he could re-learn. He shot off an affirmative to Ryan captioned with a smiley face and started his Jeep to head on home. He may have to go to school again tomorrow, but even that couldn't wipe the smile from his face tonight.

  *** * * * * * ***

Stiles cursed himself when he his alarm didn't go off, he also cursed himself when his dad had come home from his shift to find him in bed still. After Noah had yelled at him to get out of bed and get to school before heading to his bedroom to sleep, he scrambled to get out of bed and into some clothes. He didn't have any clothes that weren't dirty except for the ones that he bought when he went shopping with Danny and Lydia. Instead of second guessing anything, he threw on a dark red long sleeve shirt, black jeans that he didn't remember purchasing, and slipped into his usual black sneakers.

Quickly brushing his teeth and trying to smooth down his hair a bit, he gave up to quickly grab his backpack. Thank God he packed it the night before. Dashing down the stairs, he grabbed an apple before running out of the house. Locking the door and getting into his Jeep he nearly floored it to get to school on time. Thrumming with energy, he was tapping an irregular beat on his steering wheel as he pulled into the parking lot, having to park near the back since he didn't get up earlier. 

He just made it inside before they closed the doors and the warning bell rang. Deciding to skip his locker, he made it to his first class, not bothering to look around at anybody as he moved through the halls. First period was AP History so it was a good thing he had his books for that. His teacher, Mr. Montgomery, was nearly closing the door when he skidded inside, everyone else already seated and pulling their notebooks and binders from their bags.

"Nearly late on your first day Mr. Stilinski?" Montgomery said behind him with his bushy eyebrows raised.

"What can I say, I love making an entrance," he said with a wry smile.

"Uh huh," his teacher said with a little shake of his head, used to Stiles' sarcasm, no matter how early in the year it is. "Have a seat Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles sat at the back of the class, happy to have Danny with him in his first class of the day. Danny scoffed at him as he sat with a huff. "I see you didn't head my warning about the alarm."

"Shut up," Stiles said without any heat. He saw a few students looking over at him and Danny, some with curious looks, but Stiles didn't pay it any mind. When he looked at Danny, he saw the Hawaiian boy looking at him with a smirk, his eyes trailing up and down. "What," he asked as he shifted in his seat.

Danny shrugged. "Nothing. You look, um, you look good." He said with a nod of approval. "Did you always muscles or have I not noticed before?"

Stiles looked down at himself. He barely registered that he wasn't wearing his usual baggy clothing. No jackets or sweatshirts. No plaid, yes he people he wasn't wearing plaid! He was wearing clothes conforming to his body and apparently it was noticeable. Well to Danny at least. He forced the blush away from his face. He felt the warm rise his neck though. He rolled his eyes and flipped open his notebook. "You never noticed. And thanks. Lydia picked out this shirt. I'll let her know you approve."

Danny chuckled, but soon they were both having to listen to the new year lecture and then the lesson plans. Stiles knew he had packed on a bit of muscle and had gotten in better shape over the summer. He never paid it much mind, he was never interested to. Training with Chris had given him more than just skills apparently, but he never thought to actually see how much. Danny noticed, but he didn't know how it came about.

Lucky for him, he didn't have to explain it. Throughout the day, he kept his head down though. It was a habit of his anyway. He had a two classes with Danny, three with Lydia, and they all had lunch together. There was a few he had with the pack, but thankfully he had Lydia in the one that had all of the pack except Danny and Allison. He hadn't seen Allison all day except in a brief glimpse. She was down the hall heading the other way and she seemed to be talking to one of the teachers at the time. That was all he saw. If he had a class with her, he never noticed. The whole time, he was trying to avoid the pack.

Of course it didn't go all that easily. Twice he had Scott in a class where Scott looked at him with surprise as he took in his best friend, then expectantly, a dopey smile on his face, waiting for him to sit next to him. Stiles just kept walking, pretending like he didn't see Scott. He sat in the back of all his classes, with Lydia or Danny, or by himself. Scott gave him confused and sad looks that he ignored. Jackson ignored him mostly and Isaac was looking curious and strangely happy.

The only time Jackson did seem to look at him was when Danny came to sit next to him in his Chemistry class with Harris instead of with Jackson. Jackson looked baffled, then went to miffed, followed by concerned. When Stiles looked at Danny, about ready to ask him the burning question, Danny just gave him a look. It was subtle but it was enough for Stiles to keep his mouth closed.

After lunch, Isaac found him at his locker, his eyes sparkling. "You look different." That was all he said as he leaned against the metal, arms crossed.

"Hello to you too," Stiles said as he continued to empty his books from his pack and exchange them for other ones.

Isaac snorted. "It's not bad, just different. But what class you have next?"

"AP English with Ms. Blake. New teacher I guess," he said as he zipped up his bag.

"Oh yeah. She's pretty. I don't have her for my English class, but I saw her earlier. Some people have been wondering if she recently graduated college since she seems so young."

Stiles closed his locker and looked at Isaac. He felt his brow scrunch up, silently contemplating if Isaac was making small talk or was leading up to something. "Uh huh," he said slowly. "Anyway, see you later."

"Wait," Isaac said quickly as Stiles started to turn. "I actually wanted to-"

Isaac had stopped talking abruptly. His eyes going wide and his nostrils flaring. He wasn't looking at Stiles, but now over his shoulder. Against his better judgement Stiles turned and looked, trying to see what had Isaac literally speechless. In the crowd of students he saw two figures at the end of the hallway. Two figures that looked like students, but somehow, less innocent. As he looked he saw that they were boys, identical in appearance.

Broad shoulders, muscled arms and legs. _I mean come on it's obvious by the way they look that they are like any other jock._ They both had short brown hair, chiseled features with strong jaws, and somewhat thin lips. They adorned lightly tanned skin and matching smirks. When they saw that both Isaac and Stiles were watching them, their smirks widened, followed by a flash of their eyes. A flash of crimson red. Then as quick as it came it was gone and then the twins melted into the crowd, pulling a rather impressive disappearing act.

Even though he was a bit stunned, a cold chill running through his spine and arms, he spoke, "Was that-"

"Alphas," Isaac whispered.

"Well some," Stiles said turning back to him. "You said that they attacked you on Saturday. Were they there?"

Isaac nodded slowly, still keeping his eyes on where they disappeared. "Yeah, they were. Or at least I think they were. I didn't even know they were here. I hadn't seen them until now."

"Isaac _they_ were either there or they weren't. You sound unsure."

"It all happened so fast," the blonde boy said with worry in his eyes. He looked back at Stiles now, his forehead creasing the emotion on his face. "We were blind sided remember. We barely saw how many there were before we were fighting them."

"So how many do you think there was that day," Stiles asked quietly.

Isaac scratched the back of his neck, seeming to think hard through his jumbled thoughts. "Overall, I thought there was four at first, but I don't remember seeing the twins, not their faces."

"Lovely."

The bell rang and they both jerked their heads up to see everyone else scrambling to their classes. Stiles cursed as he had to be at his AP English class in the next two minutes. Stiles gave Isaac a hard look before saying, "We'll talk later."

Stiles ran off towards his class, carefully avoiding hitting or running into anybody. He just barely made it to his English class. He round into the room and found a head of strawberry blonde hair in mass of student. He seated himself next to Lydia, who eyed him with a smile. She still seemed pleased at the clothes he was wearing. She gave herself a pat on the back earlier when he saw her in his second period Trigonometry class. When he looked up he saw his fellow students around along with a woman he never saw before. He could only assume it was the new teacher.

Ms. Blake was a beautiful young woman. Long brown hair, pale, creamy skin, pink lips and bright eyes. Wearing a black skirt with a floral blouse, she was a the picture perfect image of a first time teacher. She had a smile that was disarming and sweet. Her eyes raked over everyone as they all took their seats and waited, looking at them all like they were toddlers waiting for a treat. When the last of the students came through the door she spoke.

"Alright everyone settle in," she said. "I'm your knew teacher, Ms. Blake. Please phones off and eyes up towards the board, we have a lot to cover for the year."

She watched the students a few seconds more, making sure that those who had their phones out, were not putting them away. When her eyes came to rest on Stiles who was closer to the middle of the class next to Lydia, Stiles saw a flash of an image run across his mind.

It was so fast he barely saw it, but it looked like white eyes. White glowing eyes.

Apparently he might have gripping his pencil a little too hard, since it snapped in half, making Lydia beside him look at his face with concern. When Stiles refocused on Ms. Blake she was no longer looking at him, but was writing now on the board. Lydia laid her hand on his arm, causing him to look away from their teacher, towards her. 

"Are you okay," she asked in a whisper.

Stiles didn't really know how to answer that question. Instead he nodded his head, dispelling the image from his mind before focusing on the lesson at hand. For a while the lesson went on just fine. Ms. Blake bringing up the new year with Hamlet. It wasn't until about ten minutes before the end of the period that Stiles had a funny feeling.

His magic stirred, burning inside him. It radiated through his skin, making him feel hot all over. He started to feel a little sweaty and was eagerly counting down the seconds under he could get out of the class to get something to drink. At least that is what he was hoping for.

A loud thump came from the window, causing everyone to flinch in their seats, making all heads turn. Even Ms. Blake immediately stopped talking, taking a step back at the sudden disruption. Stiles and Lydia both rose from their seats a little, looking out the window to see a raven, lying on the window sill, broken and bloody. Stiles looked at Lydia whose eyes went wide before someone gasped. Looking up, they saw a lot of flapping wings. Flapping wings that were getting closer. Ravens, a large flock of them were flying towards them. Stiles got a sense of Resident Evil from the sight, but he couldn't help but be mesmerized by it. He was barely aware of the rest of the class getting up from their seats, all eyes on out the window. Until another thud sounded from the window closer to the back of the classroom. Then another, this time from the front. Ravens, slumping towards the ground, broken and unmoving.

Stiles saw it happening before Ms. Blake shouted. The birds flocking closer together, encompassing into a darker mass, flapping wings and cawing beaks. Stiles heard the shout of 'Get down' before everything came to a head. The birds met the glass in a force that shattered the clear shield, no longer separating them from the classroom. Stiles pushed Lydia down as he covered her with his body, the birds flapping around them. He could feel the claws and beaks against his skin, but they weren't much. He's dealt with worse.

The screams and cries from his classmates, echoing around him. Lydia's own whimpers and grunts from the birds closest to him. It went on for what seemed like endless minutes. The screams mixing in with the bell ringing. The whole time Stile felt his skin burning, his magic rising and washing over him from the inside, making him grit his teeth. It didn't hurt, but it wasn't pleasant as the heat seemed to rise. Stiles saw the classroom door open and was about to call out to watch out before suddenly all of the birds just stopped. Their sounds stopping, their wings either curling into them or frozen in mid-span and one by one all of them dropping to the floor and desks below them. The screams died down to whimpers and cries. Slowly he and Lydia looked out to see the students around them disheveled, with wide eyes and slack jaws, small cuts and scraps on their faces and exposed arms and legs, black feathers floating around the room. Ms. Blake was much the same, huddled over another student before pulling herself up, her own face one of disturbed fear, her arms had small cuts and feathers in her hair. Stiles saw other students and teachers in the hall coming up, all of them with asking questions as some faculty pushed the students back. 

Stiles already could hear the sound of sirens coming from the now shatter windows. Stiles saw Danny and some of the pack members through the hall, all with looks of confusion and concern.

"What the hell just happened," Lydia asked shakily.

Stiles shook his head, not having an answer. Something he was getting used to with all the questions he still had yet to get answers for the unexplained happenings around town over the past year. His magic was settling back to normal inside his chest, no longer a roaring inferno, but he still felt the heat all over him. The trickle of sweat running down his temples. His magic felt unsettled still, on alert. Yet another thing he didn't have an answer to. The list was growing.

*** * * * * * ***

Everyone was sent home early, on the first day of school. That has never happened. When the police came along with paramedics. Stiles didn't see Ryan which made him take a deep breath. He didn't need to deal with a concerned Ryan and a concerned Sheriff for a father. His dad came to the school in street clothes, still off for the day until that night, but it seems as if he would be going in early with what just happened. After everyone in the classroom was checked, statements were given. Ms. Blake was giving statements to both officers and to the principal.

Stiles kind of felt bad for her. She was a new teacher and her first day was a disaster that Stiles had trouble explaining. It was clear that this was something supernatural, it had to be, but it didn't mean he knew what. The woman was hugging herself, arms wrapped tight around each other as she gave a recount of everything. Lydia was going home with Jackson, who barely left her side when she was herded out of the classroom with Stiles and proceeded to get checked over. Stiles would have found his puppy routine funny if he didn't see the real worry in his eyes.

Danny was doing much the same to Stiles. Except not as promptly. 

He kept asking if Stiles was okay and then stayed nearby as Stiles was looked over and then when his father came in, they both looked a mixture of sheepish and upset. Noah had looked at both of them and then had that look that ultimately said 'Supernatural, I know, keep it under wraps, yada yada.' He did give Stiles a hug, one that Stiles reciprocated happily. When it was announced by the officer in charge that the school was going to be let out early there were a few cheers, but mostly it was quiet.

Everyone was clearly shaken by the sudden display of animal suicide. Well what else would you call it?

Danny and Stiles went back to his house, Stiles avoiding the rest of the pack, not that any of them, besides Isaac, had come over to check on him. Isaac had given Stiles a questioning look, one that Stiles shook off, saying that he was fine and to go tell Derek and Peter about what happened. Isaac told him he would let him know about what they think later and headed off with Jackson and Lydia. They left soon after as well, but not before seeing the twin alphas watching everything unfold with looks of interest. One caught his attention as he was heading for his Jeep and Danny's car, one that also caught Danny's attention as well. The Alpha twin looked at both of them and gave a smile, one that Stiles was not sure how to interpret. When he looked at Danny, he could have sworn he saw a blush on the boy's face.

Back at his house, Stiles and Danny rested. Stiles used his magic to heal the little cuts on his arms, leaving the small one on his cheek for appearances, before shaking off the day. At least it was an attempt to. In the end, they did their homework, the little amount they had. Danny had texted Deaton about the events and the vet had said that he would look into it, but he was not aware of something like this happening, especially not out of nowhere, at least not without supernatural help. That only confirmed what Stiles thought anyway. Deaton promised to let them if he finds anything. Stiles got a text from Isaac when it was past dark, saying that Derek and Peter knew and would look into also. Peter said he was going to look through his family's books, see if their was a mention of this happening around here before, and Derek was going to run the perimeter.

Stiles supposed he could be helping with all of this, but if he was being honest, he didn't have the energy. The excitement of the day, along with the nerves and the fear. His magic had returned to it's normal state when he arrived home with Danny, but his emotions were not that settled. It comforted him that his magic didn't seem to feel as relaxed as he did though. Eventually he and Danny went to bed, Danny staying over since he seemed a little more shaken up by the day that Stiles was. Stiles was content with having Danny nearby, it settling him enough to relax and unwind enough to feel exhaustion. Both were trying to put the weirdness of the day behind them, hoping that tomorrow would be normal for once. 

Unfortunately, they lived in Beacon Hills.

Stiles awoke the next morning early. It was barely before dawn. The fading images of his nightmares receding from the forefront of his brain. Swallowing back the whimper and the quickly wiping away the tears from his cheeks, he looked at the clock to see that he was going to be meeting Chris soon. He carefully extracted himself from the covers and slipping out of the bed. He almost missed it, too wrapped up in his head when Danny moved after he had put on some clothes, rolling over to look at him sleepily.

"You okay," he mumbled tiredly, but still looking at him.

Stiles nodded. Clearly his throat he said, "Yeah. Just going to get a drink of water."

Danny nodded, his eyes still droopy. "You sure?"

"I'm sure, go back to sleep, big guy," he said with a small smile. Danny seemed to obliged and he waited a moment before leaving the room. He quickly brushed his teeth and headed downstairs. He passed Luna who was zonked out on the couch, which made him grin before he was out the door.

He met Chris in their usual spot in the Preserve. Having parked his Jeep by the road, he took the little path had made by their footfalls over the summer to their spot. It was mostly clear of trees and open enough for them to move in, but still had some obstacles for them to be mindful of, which did good to test Stiles' balance and reactive time. So that was how they practiced. Like always testing his speed, endurance, strength, and strategy. They went from quick workout movements and stretches, to sparring with hands and feet, then moving to knives. Stiles had pulled out the long dagger he took from Kyram's body, the blade he has come to trust in his grip, then matching it with another dagger close to it's equal in balance and length. Using both in tandem as he and Chris spun, sliced, lunged, and dodged around each other, neither landing any actually attacks, but coming close.

Stiles came much closer than Chris and more often.

Stiles was breathing a little harder, beads of sweat running down his temples and his shirt plastered to his back. The sun was already rising, making the cool morning air heat up. It was getting close to the time for him to leave for school. He didn't want to go, he was happy with the distraction training was giving him. He was gripping the blades in his hands rather lightly, letting them weigh down towards the ground, ready for him to move them when he moved his body.

"Stiles what are you doing,” he hear to the right of them, startling them both from their concentration.

They both turned quickly to see Danny coming up from behind a few trees, trudging carefully like he was about to spook an animal. His face contorted into an incredulous look and his eyes darting from Stiles to Chris, to the knives in Stiles' hands. 

"Danny," Stiles said in complete shock, now bordering on fear. "What are you doing here?"

"I can ask you the same thing," he said with a tremor in his voice, his dark eyes still not leaving the knives.

Stiles didn't know what to say in that moment. He was standing, frozen in place, his mind whirring, and his emotions bordering on terror and guilt. He could see the way Danny was looking at the knives, almost avoiding Stiles'd gaze, like he was afraid to see someone different than he expected. Someone he didn't know. "Did you follow me?"

At that question, Danny looked up at him. He looked almost irate underneath the confused fear. "I had to know what you were doing. I thought you would just be downstairs. I heard the door open then close and your Jeep start. You left so early this morning, too early to go to school. I didn't know what to think."

"So you followed me?"

Danny huffed out a sound. Now looking angry and...hurt. Still confused. "What was I supposed to do? I thought you had felt your wards. I thought something had come through again and you were going off to have a look. God knows you wouldn’t have said anything just like you did with the Harpy."

Stiles continued to focus on Danny, not looking at Chris, hoping to not give anything away. Chris still didn't know about his magic. He wanted to keep it that way, but Danny may not know that. Danny didn't know about anything that was going on here, who could blame him for jumping to conclusions?

"Harpy?" Chris had asked as he straightened his back, putting one of the knives in his other hand, grasping them both as he looked between the two boys. "What is going on?"

Stiles ignores the man in favor. Focusing on his breathing. His magic was curling around his chest, trying to comfort him, but not fuel his emotions. Stiles wouldn't let it. He didn't deserve to have his magic fueled by this. The guilt was eating at him in full now. This was his doing and he knew it. It made it feel worse. He felt saddened and angry, but not at Danny. At himself.

It was almost like he could feel Danny's wave of emotions aimed at him too. Stiles could guess it all and still feel it like a heavy weight on him. Mostly he could imagine the anger, disappointment, and the hurt. A lot of hurt. "That was different. I was already in the woods when I heard it and it was attacking Isaac. What could I do? Not help? Was I supposed to call you and wait till you got there to do something," he said, in half hopes that Danny would just drop it all.

Throwing caution to wind now, Danny got angrier. "No I thought I could help you. Yet again you think you have to do it all."

"What happened to Isaac," Chris asked. They still ignored him.

"I can handle it. I can handle myself," Stiles said more harshly than he intended.

"That's not the point!" Danny yelled, stepping a little closer to Stiles before his eyes looked down at the knives in Stiles' hands, before taking the same step back.

Stiles tried to pretend he wasn't affected by that movement. He tried to pretend that his heart didn't clench in his chest at seeing Danny's eyes flash with doubt and skepticism. It made the rush of emotions shoot up and down his body again. Rage and melancholy, fire and ice. "Then what is the point?"

"That you have been keeping secrets from me," he said in a hard voice, flicking his gaze to Chris quickly before landing back to Stiles.

"I'm sorry. I've been training with Chris" Stiles found himself admitting in a small voice. He downcast his eyes for a brief moment in shame. It was like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar again as a kid, only this time. He felt much worse. It could be said that he owed Danny no answers. That this was his business, but he knew that would be a lie too. When did his life revolve around lying so much?

"I can’t rely on others to help me anymore," he said, not up from the ground.

"Stiles," Danny said with a mix of emotion that he didn't dare pick apart. He had no right to, but it made him feel even more shameful, "that's not what I’m asking you to do. I’m asking for you to _talk_ to me. Yet you have been hiding things from me like-like I would shun you for it."

That stung. That hit home in a harsh blow. He knew Danny was right. He also knew what Danny was not saying. He was saying that he thought Stiles would be afraid of someone judging him or wanting to ridicule him for his choices. That Stiles was afraid of Danny questioning him for his choices. While Stiles is no stranger to being judged, neither is Danny. When they were young Danny was bullied for his sexual orientation. But he also was looked down on for being a Hedge witch. Having to find his own answers, his own way to learn magic because no other practitioner would _want_ to teach him. He had no sources. Deaton has slightly taken him under his wing but it was clear it wasn’t enough. Deaton would help as best he could with books and source material but he wouldn’t train Danny himself. Something Stiles has put together on his own and has not thought to bring up to Deaton over the whole summer.

This, Stiles heard while he was still asleep and recovering from his time in the Astral realm. He recalled Danny and his father's conversation. He never thought the boy had it that hard even after his parents disappeared. He never wanted to be that way with Danny. Which was probably one reason why Danny was reluctant to tell Stiles about his magic to begin with. _They still haven't talked about it Heavens sake!_

Danny has asked him to talk to him, to share things with him. And what has he done? Hidden things from him and only telling him what he already learned or what he needed to know to shut him up for the time being.

 _I am an asshole_ , he thought to himself with venom in his thoughts. 

"Danny I-"

"I got to get to school or I’m going to be late. You better as well."

With that Danny left. Nearly running to head back out of the Preserve. Back towards where he no doubt parked nearby next to Stiles and Chris' vehicles, having crept his way further in the woods in order to find them. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if Danny used magic to find them through the trees. Watching Danny walk away with his head hung low and his shoulders tense, face closed off, it was a punch in the gut. It made his magic curl even tighter almost like hugging itself.

Stiles just wasn’t feeling it anymore. His energy seemed to droop and sadness seemed to replace it. He told Chris a few moments after that he was done. Chris looked like he wanted to argue a few things, especially how Stiles didn't mention anything more about the Harpy, but at the forced out please from Stiles, Chris backed off. He loaded up his suitcase of gear and headed back towards his truck from where Danny originally came.

This left Stiles alone. Which gave his thoughts all the permission needed to come at him in a haze. He didn’t mean to upset Danny. He didn't mean to make him feel like Stiles didn't trust him. In truth, Stiles did trust him.

 _But do you really_ , a part of his mind asked. _You wouldn't have hid this from him otherwise._

Shaking his head, he tried to clear those poisonous thoughts away. However it still stuck with him. They were right. He had hid it from Danny. He could have told him, but in truth he didn't want to. This was something for Stiles. Stiles had asked Chris to train him because he didn't want to feel weak and helpless anymore. The grueling hours of sore muscles, labored breathing, constant moving was something he had come to look forward to. The lessons Chris taught him were ones that he held onto and tried to hone, mentally grasping onto them like a lifeline, ready for him if he ever needed to use them. Not to mention he figured Chris owed him this. After what Gerard had done, Chris only knowing a bit about it based on the evidence on Stiles' body when he showed him what his father had done, Chris seemed to take it upon himself so that he didn't have to see another kid (another human) suffer the way he did.

Chris pushed him, while giving him time to adjust. Never asked more than what he knew Stiles was capable, but never sugar coated what he wanted Stiles to learn. With weapons, he taught Stiles maneuvers to keep him alive, but also to keep him dangerous. He made sure that Stiles had to the skills to be dangerous, all while showing Stiles what his body was capable of with the motivation and drive to do it.

This was all before his magic. This was all before Stiles got a handle on his magic being second nature to him.

Chris had helped him fight off his anger and fear. Stiles could have told Danny all of this. Yet he chose to hide it. He chose to hide that while Chris helped him release his anger, Danny helped him to appease his sadness and hurt, replacing it with what Stiles thought he lost.

He owed Danny that. He knows he does.

Stiles leaned against a tree, smacking the back of his head against the bark a couple times in agitation. He messed up...again. He just couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal. Scott, his once best friend and only friend for a long time, had thrown him to the hunters, turning his back on him when he was hurt, emphasizing that he was not pack. Those things stick with a person, especially from someone you once considered your best friend. Stiles still loves Scott, truly he does, but he doesn't know if he can forgive him. He doesn't know if he can look Scott in the eye and say that things will be the same between them again. Call it a darkness on his soul now or something. Stiles just doesn't know how to let himself trust another person. He doesn't know how he can truly let them in, see all of his insecurities, his issues, his dreams, all for it to mean nothing to them later.

Isn't that how Scott saw him? Not important enough to matter?

Scott said it himself right. It was about Allison and his mom. Stiles would do anything for his dad, he and Scott both had that in common. But when it came to Allison, Scott was a blind puppy to anything else in the world. Stiles had never been in love before, he's had affections and crushes, but if what Scott really has for Allison is love and not infatuation, then maybe he shouldn't judge harshly. But then that doesn't give him a license to ignore the other people in his life, especially ones who have been there for him for many years.

Either way, Stiles was afraid he angered one of his only remaining friends, so he started to turn around, no longer caring about school. It was the second day, what happens on the second day anyway. He was in no mood to see anybody, especially not the pack. He wanted to see Danny, but he wasn't sure Danny was in any mood to see him right now. Stiles had to think of a way to make it up to Danny. Explanations, definitely...groveling, most likely.

He turned to trudge back to his Jeep, having to spend the whole day wallowing in his own guilt at this mornings events. He didn't get very far when he felt his magic swell up inside him. No longer drooping from the sour mood he was still in. Instead it was rising, curling around itself before nudging at him. He stopped where he was, feeling that same sensation with each breath he took. The more seconds that passed, the more 'pressing' the nudging became. It was like before, when he heard the roar from Derek the other day in the Preserve. It was his magic telling him something. This time though, there was no sounds. There was no roar, no burning need to run towards something at all haste, this was different. This was persistent, but not in like before. This sensation was urging him to follow, like a call on the wind, one that registered within him and called to his magic as well.

Without much thought, Stiles went. It was not his best and most self-preserving decision, but when did he ever think of that. After what happened yesterday with the raven's and the Alpha pack now making more of an appearance, he found himself relying more on his magic. He was led to the hurt pack members, for what reason he wasn't so sure still, but he still understood that his magic recognized what Stiles cared about. 

Even reluctantly cared about. Yes, he still cared about the pack, especially when they were hurt, but he couldn't change that. Over months, in some cases years of caring for them, it was a hard habit to break, even if he had been hurt by them. But that didn't mean he had to make it easy for them in any way.

Pushing his thoughts aside to focus on where he was going he walked. This was the second time in a couple days where his magic nudged at him and he had this nagging feeling in his mind, something that he couldn't shake even if he wanted to. That feeling didn't happen often, frankly he was curious to see what was causing it this time. So he kept following the pull of his magic. The longer he walked the tighter the invisible rope around his chest seemed to get. The nudging got more and more prominent. Soon he started to feel a pressure in his ears. It was like he needed to pop them, but he couldn't.

With each step the feeling got more intense. His magic nearly pulsing against the whole front of his torso. His mind fuzzing, thoughts going hazy and incoherent. He wasn't aware of anything else around him, just what he was going towards. It was all he could focus on. Before long he heard a thumping sound. Like a heart beat. It wasn't his. He somehow knew that. This beating was deeper, harder. 

Winding around trees, rocks, debris on the forest floor from the wild nature around him, he drew closer. On some level, maybe he should have been concerned. But he wasn't. He could feel any emotion at what he was doing. The long he walked the quicker the beating became. He had a sense of experiencing this before, he was sure of that, but he didn't care to think about it right now. Stiles kept walking, the thumping getting stronger, faster, louder in his ears, equal to the pressure. It was beating in time with his own heart now.

He turned around the corner of a patch of shrubbery and decent sized ash tree when he saw it. He knew it then where the thumping was coming from. Placing the familiar sensation to the one thing that was leading him here.

The Nemeton.

Standing less than a few feet from him. Shrouded in morning sunlight and shadows from the forest canopy. It's bark dark brown and gray. It was still large and standing dead looking, but Stiles could literally feel the power it had. It was overflowing with it. It was like it felt before.

What when was he here last? The Astral plane? Is that even the same Nemeton? The itch in the back of his mind seemed to agree along with his magic. It was now roaring inside of him, leaking into his arms and legs, burning through his veins. Maybe it was the same. Yet somehow, this time, the ancient tree felt...stronger?

Ignoring the slight tremor in his hands and the coiled feeling of fear in his gut, he stepped closer. He wasn't in the Astral realm this time. He kept telling himself that as he got closer. There was nothing here to prevent him from reaching out. His magic was pushing him to, and the tree itself was calling to him, He could feel it. It was in every cell of his body now, his magic eagerly wanting to respond as it rocked through him.

With a deep breath, his fingers touched the inner circles of the stump. He didn't know what to expect from the contact, but definitely not the spark of raw energy that shot through him, accompanied by flashes of images in his mind. He had to close his eyes at the force of it. He hand feel scorched and his body going stock still in place as his back straightened and head thrown up to the sky.

It wasn't painful, but it wasn't comfortable. He felt his fingers and toes tingle, the current running into his body, his magic responding to it and blazing even brighter and warmer than ever before. He could feel his eyes burning with the power of his Spark through is closed eyelids as the images flashed through him. He saw things he didn't expect, things that took his breath away, and things that filled him with elation.

What stuck out the most was bright, glowing pale blue eyes. Cold and sinister.

Pools of blood, seeping into the earth, running into the ground and then disappearing, with black feathers around it all. Followed up by glistening white eyes.

Erica and Boyd, in a dark room, strung up, looking weak, but still beautiful to Stiles as he felt tears come to him. Accompanied by sets of red eyes behind them.

It was then that he knew what to do. He could tell what had to be done. It filtered through his mind with the pictures. He didn't so much get words or voices, but a feeling. It was a feeling that he knew that would lead him to his goal. It was because of that that he was nearly forced back from the tree, his breathing ragged and heavy. His heart beating so fast he felt it against his ribs. He didn't hear the thumping of the Nemeton anymore. There was no more pressure in his ears. His magic still was burning through him, but it had the strange sensation of euphoria to it, like it was singing inside with contentment and understanding.

Stiles did understand. He knew how to find Erica and Boyd.


	20. Promises and Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay folks! I didn't mean to take this long. I had this mostly written and then life got piled on me again. But don't worry I'll be uploading the next chapter soon. As always, let me know what you think! Love yous, all of yous! Thanks to you all!

Stiles had not noticed how much time had passed since he touched the tree. He had no idea how much time had passed since he watched Chris leave, effectively letting Stiles wallow in his thoughts. After the connection with the Nemeton was broken, it took him a little bit before he could make his body move. When he could, he hauled ass and ran.

He was overflowing with emotions by that point. The magic inside his body was responding, rising up and down his body in near elation. He was thrumming with new energy, with new hope. Stiles winded through the trees, pushing his magic out to help him find his way. Sending it out in waves like a radar, giving his mind a sense of where he needed to go. He was heading back to his Jeep. He needed to get back to town. He knew how to find them. He knew how to find Erica and Boyd.

Getting them back won't be easy though. The Nemeton showed him enough to tell him who had them, but also how to reach out enough to find them. There was always a trail to follow. They had just been going about it the wrong way.

Stiles found his Jeep, still parked and waiting for him. He quickly hopped inside and started it up so he could swerve onto the pavement and head back into town. He barely saw the time on his dash board, reading that it was nearly 3:30. He knew that school was now ending, students starting to leave the grounds. He had missed the whole day of school, from early morning till now. Maybe he should feel guilty about that especially since he knew his dad would get a call about his absence, but he didn't care. Not now. Stiles was nearly bouncing in his seat at what he had seen. He was filled with the hope that maybe, just maybe, he could help Erica and Boyd. That he would finally be able to keep the promise he made to himself months ago.

He might have broken a couple traffic laws while driving but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was heading towards the school. He needed to find the one person who could help him. Despite how the morning went, Stiles had to find Danny. As it turns out that when Stiles had pulled up to the school a moment after the last of the buses left and cars were still pulling out of the lot, he found Danny, leaning by his car, seemingly waiting for him. When they met eyes through his passenger side window, Stiles didn't have the chance to say anything because Danny beat him first.

"You missed school," he said simply, almost dismissively.

Stiles nodded. "I know I did. There's a reason for that."

Danny's expression grew guarded after that. Stiles knew what he said could be taken the wrong way and he didn't mean for that to happen. He didn't like seeing Danny put up a wall between them, not after everything they've been through. He got out of his Jeep and walked around it to meet Danny. When Danny's eyes still were dark and his face turning wary, Stiles nearly winced at the look aimed at him. Stiles may still be in his clothes from that morning, still a little damp from his sweat and dirt from the forest, but he didn't care. He hoped Danny didn't either.

Without much more thought Stiles reached out and wrapped his arms around Danny, sliding them through his arms as the other boy kept his hands in his jeans pockets. 

He could feel Danny stiffen at the contact, the muscles in his back tightening, before they slowly loosened. He could tell Danny seemed unsure of what to do, so Stiles just held him. Hooking his chin over his broad shoulder and hugging him against him. It wasn't a tight hug, nor was it passionate and lingering, but it was soothing. While Stiles held onto Danny, he felt Danny pull his hands free from their pockets before tentatively wrapping around Stiles' waist. Danny stiffened again when he felt Kyram's dagger strapped to his back under his shirt, tucked a little under the waistband of his pants, but didn't pull away. Stiles responded in rubbing his hands up and down his friend's back in little movements, trying desperately to show how Stiles felt. When Danny relaxed under Stiles' movements, sliding his hands away from the hidden blade and higher up to the small of his back, Stiles tried to not breathe out a sigh of relief. He could feel Danny's heart racing, similar to his own, but neither seemed to care. It was what still made Stiles smile despite the sadness and guilt, he could feel from himself and what he thought was the unsure, timid, and hurt emotions he felt from Danny as he felt the boy sigh out a heavy breath against his neck.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispered into Danny's shoulder. "I'm really sorry."

Danny responded by tightening his arms around Stiles, but still didn't say anything. Stiles didn't think he needed to. Somehow he felt his own mind slow down from the burst of energy he got from the Nemeton. He felt his emotions settle from the joy and unsure anxiety from what he had learned, switching from the guilt and sorrow he carried about how he left Danny (left him to deal with all of this all day at school by himself) to the flow of acceptance and warmth, radiating contentedness, friendship, and affection. Stiles was more than happy for those emotional impressions.

They remained that way for a few moments more, neither caring about the students still in the parking lot, both of them ignoring anyone else. Even if some members of the pack were nearby watching. Stiles could see Scott and Isaac standing over by Scott's motorbike, both of them staring with concern, surprise, and in Scott's case, silent annoyance. Stiles didn't pay his former best friend any mind. Danny didn't seem affected by Jackson a few cars down over by his Porsche looking at them with a horror struck expression and also annoyance.

With one final squeeze to Danny, Stiles pulled back, feeling a little blush creep up his neck, but otherwise glad that Danny seemed to give him an easy smile. Danny still had a questionable look at Stiles' actions just now, but he seemed to understand the intent.

"Let's go," Stiles said quietly so the wolves nearby couldn't hear him. "We need to talk."

Danny's smile faltered, but he held a determined look in his eyes. With a nod, he got into his car and followed Stiles in his Jeep. They headed back to Stiles' house, parking and getting into the house, doing all of this in silence. The Sheriff wasn't home yet, so that left the boys with some time to talk in private. Upon their entry, Luna came in from the living room, whining and giving huff of happiness as they paid her a couple pats on the head. Danny was about to head up to Stiles' bedroom when Stiles instead lead them to the living room. 

Stiles could feel the nervous energy in the air, the anxiety coming from Danny. Luna seemed to sense the change in atmosphere as well, as they both sat on the couch, both on either ends while she sat next to Stiles on the floor. He began running his fingers through her soft fur, allowing it to settle him his own tense mood. His magic was coiled tight in his chest, sensing the unease in the room, but not threatened by it. This wasn't going to be easy to talk about. None of it would be, but he owed it to Danny. He needed to explain why he has been hiding things from him. He feared Danny believed it had something to do with himself and what he was, but it was far from that. He also believed that Stiles didn't trust him. Stiles needed to try to make things right in that area.

"I know I haven't been honest with you," Stiles began, seeing Danny straighten out of the corner of his eye. "I just...I wanted..." He sighed heavily, running a hand through his grown out hair. This was harder than he thought it would be. Taking a deep breath he tried again. "I started training with Chris after what happened with...after that night." Stiles said into the silence as Danny listened intently. "I asked for his help, knowing he was the only one around who could possibly help with what I wanted."

"Why didn't you just tell me that," Danny asked quietly.

"For same reason I haven't talked much about what happened that night," Stiles said, not looking at his friend. Luna was licking at his hand, set on his knee, her head bumping against him in silent support to keep going.

Danny opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it, staying silent as Stiles struggled to find the words the explain. "That night...I was kidnapped from the school grounds, under the nose of so many people, including Scott, Isaac and even my dad. Knocked out and taken to the Argent house's basement and tied up with chains and ropes. At first I thought it was all a joke, until I saw the hunters and Gerard. I never thought...that man would be so..."

Stiles stopped. There wasn't a word that was best suitable to describe Gerard's character. There wasn't enough words to describe his psychotic, twisted actions. Just like Kate, he was in a category of his own, with ideals and thoughts all corrupted by hatred, jealousy, fear, desperation, and so many other things, that Stiles couldn't pick the sole source of his craziness.

"Stiles you don't have to tell me if-" Danny began.

"Yes I do. I want you to understand that it has nothing to do with you," Stiles said meeting Danny's eyes.

Danny looked like he wanted to argue or ask about what Stiles meant. His brows furrowed just a little, before ultimately he sat back further in the cushions and nodded, staying quiet.

Swallowing hard around the sudden nausea that the past was bringing to him, Stiles continued, trying to sort his thoughts the best he could. "I was taken for questioning originally, but that questioning was accompanied by physical abuse if I refused to give answers or gave sarcasm in return. Erica and Boyd witnessed it all. I don't know how long they were down there, but I could see the sheer fear and pain on their faces at what Gerard had done to them. I couldn't let Gerard do anymore to them. But then that was why I was there. I was the human, unprotected and easily...breakable. Or so Gerard thought.

"I never gave him any information, no matter how many times they hit me, cut me and electrocuted me. I believed the pack would find me, find us. I thought any moment Scott would burst through the door with Derek right behind him, ready to stop Gerard's madness." Stiles finished, feeling the familiar burn of his hurt, anger, and despair rise up in his chest. "I was wrong. They never knew I was there. They never suspected I was in danger. Hell even Derek didn't know his betas were being held prisoner and tortured for hours before I got there."

"Stiles-"

"It's okay," Stiles lied. He knew it was a lie. Even he could hear it in his voice. "I've known for some time how little importance I am to Scott. Derek never cared one way or the other, so I can't fault him. I just thought that Scott would have thought better of me. Dad was there on the field and I found out later that Scott told him that he thought I just ran off with random people, spectators to my sudden win on the field. He didn't think much of it after what happened with Jackson. So I cannot blame dad for not knowing, especially since I tried so hard to keep him from knowing about the supernatural. That was just a waste of time and energy.

"Eventually, I was taken out of the basement, bloody and broken. Gerard ordering for his hunter's to kill me, saying the pack didn't deserve me. The last time I saw Erica and Boyd, they were in the same position as me, both scared and hurt, but they were fighting to break free. I remember...seeing Erica's eyes, never leaving mine as the hunter's dragged me out of the basement, to fulfill Gerard's order to kill me. In the end I was collateral damage. I was a _message_ to Scott and to Derek. Gerard wanted them to find my body in the Preserve. He wanted them to see that he had the power to still 'take' from them. What he misinterpreted was how important I actually was to them.

"So after it all, I went to Chris. I asked him to teach me what he knew. I asked him to give me direction on how to not only protect myself, but on how to fight back. He saw the bruises, the cuts, the bandages that I had, and it was like he couldn't see beyond them. I saw the pity in his eyes then. And I just...I _hated_ it." He could feel the burn behind his eyes, the gathering of silent tears. "I hated feeling like I had no options, no choices, but I didn't. I would take the son of an enemy over feeling how I did that night anytime. I hated that feeling."

"What feeling," Danny asked quietly after a moment.

" _Weak_ ," Stiles nearly spat out.

"You are not weak."

"Oh but I was. That night I was weak. I was naive to think that monsters were the creatures to be afraid of most. I was wrong. There are monsters everywhere. Even in those who hunt them, who claim to do it for the greater good. As bullshit as that it, I allowed myself to let down a guard I didn't even know I had. One that I had once used against everyone I didn't trust or know, against people before all of this supernatural crap. Then, when fangs and claws came into the picture, people didn't seem to carry as much weight as they once did. I was a fool to think otherwise. I was weak Danny. I was weak when they took me from that field. When they strung me up and tortured me for hours, always asking a question about the pack, always dealing out pain when I refused. I was weak when I watched as Erica and Boyd bodies were fed electricity to prevent them from fighting, reduced to nothing but animals. I was weak, when I was led out into the woods to be executed. I was weak when the hunter's nearly...when they...when I was nearly raped because I couldn't fight back. I was wounded, broken, bloody, and exhausted."

By the end of it, Stiles' voice was just quiet and on the verge of whimpering. His magic was flowing through him, radiating warmth in his chest, wrapping around his heart. Luna was whining now next to him, but she never moved from her spot, her head still on his knee. Danny's eyes were heavy with tears by the time Stiles stopped to take a breath. Stiles wasn't watching Danny, he didn't have to see him to feel that if he did he would see the deeply seated sorrow on his face.

"I can still feel it," Stiles went on. Not being able to stop now, his thoughts taking over for him, spilling out of his mouth without consequence. Stiles was afraid of what Danny would think of him by the end of this, but he wanted Danny to know. It was tearing him apart inside, keeping it hidden, secret, not having anyone to turn to. Danny was here and willing to listen, he wanted to know. Stiles just hoped that it didn't cause Danny to turn away from him. "His hands. Grant's hands as he pulled my shorts down. I can still _feel_ his hot breath, his tongue on my skin, when he used his knives to cut into my body. His body on top of me, pushing me into the dirt, his dick pressed against my back as he talked about playing with me, like a toy. How he wanted me to scream and joke about all of them taking a turn with me."

Stiles heard Danny suck in a breath, but he kept going, feeling hot tears brim over his eyelids, running down his cheeks. Tears he has tried to push down for a while.

"I was weak that night. Up until the moment, something inside me broke. Maybe it was the fear or the desperation, the hurt when I knew no one was coming for me, but would eventually find my body, or maybe it was a combination of it all that made my magic break free. I don't know, but then the next thing I know, fire burned around me and I could hear the scream and wails of the hunter's who once laughed and joke at my pain, the ones who wanted to witness my body become even more broken. I didn't know what happened, even as the screams died away as the bodies dropped in black heaps. I didn't know what caused it all, I was too overwhelmed with terror, confusion, pain, and everything else that caused me to nearly have a panic attack every couple of minutes in that forest. You obviously know the rest.

"That is why I asked Chris to train me. Before my magic, all I had was my wits and nothing else. I didn't want to feel powerless. I wanted to have the ability to protect myself from ever feeling as helpless as I did that night again."

Stiles stopped after that, letting his words hang in the air. Letting them sink in. The tense atmosphere riddled with his emotions. Stiles could almost feel Danny vibrating next to him. The concern, raw sadness, the anger and rage, the barely concealed hurt. Stiles kept his eyes down, focusing on watching his fingers run through the fur on Luna's head. He didn't want to see the look of pity on Danny's face, nor see the uncertainty or the rejection. The silence of the house was almost deafening. Stiles could almost hear his own heart, pitter-pattering in his chest.

When Danny did speak, Stiles held his breath. "Why tell me all this now," he whispered.

"I couldn't talk about this...before," Stiles said honestly in a whisper. "I didn't want to burden anyone else with what I went through. I don't want pity. I know my dad doesn't know what happened and I wanted to save him from finding out. There would be nothing he could do anyway."

Danny sat forward, coming closer to Stiles, but still spoke quietly. "You thought that because you didn't think he knew about the supernatural. You were protecting him from that. What about now?"

"I guess now, I want to protect him from knowing what almost happened. From knowing that he wasn't there to stop this. He already has enough guilt from hiding the truth about mom and everything he knew for all these years. I can't add to that."

Danny scooted closer to Stiles, now sitting side by side, his thigh pressed to Stiles', but still providing space between them. "Is that why you wouldn’t tell me. Did you think I would pity you for it? Or blame you?”

Stiles shook his head. “I just didn’t want you to feel sorry for me. I have been left before by people I trusted, left behind, and I just-”

"Well tough shit,” Danny said forcefully. “I’m going to feel sorry for you because you went through something no one should have to. You were tortured and nearly raped and killed. You are allowed to feel the way you do.”

Stiles stayed silent for a long moment, before Danny decided to keep going.

”I don’t pity you Stiles. I never did,” he said causing Stiles to look at him with wide eyes. “I _am_ angry for you. But I am also proud of you. Because you came out of it stronger, harder, wanting to do everything you can to protect yourself and others. You decided you were not going to let them break you. You held out, even then, you held out and gave Gerard shit for it. I will never be able to imagine how you felt in those moments, but I can imagine your hatred and your rage. As for the Scott and the pack, they can go chase their tails. They are not a proper pack and they may never be, especially if they don't get their heads out of their asses.”

Stiles scoffed out a surprise chuckle, Luna licking at his hand when he pulled it away from her head. Stiles still felt the tension slip just a little. He wiped at his eyes, feeling a few tears slip down his cheeks, but he didn't 

“I’m really am proud of you Stiles. And I wish to god Gerard gets what he deserves. Gerard was right though," he said causing Stiles to finally look at his friend through his watery eyes, "the pack doesn’t deserve you.”

Stiles cracked a small watery smile. When Danny pushed up his sleeves, Stiles saw the Celtic knot scar on his forearm. It was the same one Stiles wore, a symbol of the bond they shared. Danny was the anchor to tether him to this plane, keep his magic from being coerced somewhere else. Danny was the physical representation of his rock. But he was also a reminder that he would never be safe. Stiles was his own beacon to the supernatural. He was a mage, with magic, something that many would see to exploit and use for their own gain, by any means necessary. Which meant that his father and Danny could be targets for those who seek to get the upper hand over him. Stiles looked away from the mark, his finger inching towards his own, the guilt now rising in him. The fear leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Danny noticed him looking at the mark and then looking away, the small smile slipping away from his face. Stiles hoped Danny wouldn't notice, but when did things go his way. Danny didn't move to cover the mark, but he did sit up straighter, taking a deep breath before saying, "So why are you telling me this now?"

Surprised Stiles looked up at him, "I thought that-"

"No, I heard. But that's not your only reasoning," Danny said, almost knowingly but gently. "Is it?"

Stiles didn't answer. He didn't say or do anything, but even doing nothing spoke volumes to Danny. The boy was more intuitive than he gave himself credit for. "It's nothing."

"If that was true, then you wouldn't feel the need to hide," Danny pressed. A few moments of studying him and Stiles was nearly about ready to get up and move. It was like being watched by his dad, waiting for him to break. Stiles hated that feeling, but he couldn't run from Danny. He had done enough of that. "You regret the mark. You regret the ritual to bind your magic to this plane."

He said it as statement. So plainly, factually, that Danny believed it was true. It was without any emotion, that Stiles looked up at Danny to see his expression in the same way. Closed off, emotionless.

"No!" Stiles said quickly, a little more loudly than he needed, startling Danny and Luna. "No, I don't regret the decision. At least-"

"So you do," Danny said.

"No, I'm just...," he tried to say.

"Just what," he asked, confused, but still without any other emotion. When Stiles didn't respond, he pressed again. "What, Stiles, why do you regret the decision? Why did we complete it, if you regret it now?"

" _Because I'm scared_ ," Stiles shouted into the quiet house, his voice nearly bouncing off the walls, feeling his eyes burn again, but this time not from sadness, but agitation and fear, from worry and trepidation, his magic mirroring it by fluttering inside him, rising and falling. The lights flicked on and off at his outburst, reflecting his turmoil, but Danny put his hand on his shoulder, steadying him, giving a feeling of calm when Stiles didn't feel any before. After a few beats with Danny too stunned or scared to say anything in return, Stiles went on. "I am terrified. I know why you did it. I know why I agreed to it. I will never be able to thank you enough for doing that for me, but I fear what it means. We thought about what it could do for me, my magic, but we never stopped to think about what it could mean for you. We stopped to think on if it _could_ work, not that it _should._ I didn't think about the direct line you would be placing yourself into. I never thought about the danger it would bring to you all because you are my friend. I never wanted that. My dad is just the same. You are both in danger, put at risk with any creature or monster that comes after me, looking for me, all because of who I am."

Danny stared at him with wide eyes for a moment before sliding closer to him, where his side was plastered to Stiles, then reaching over with his other hand not touching Stiles' shoulder, to grip Stiles' forearm and pulling up the sleeve to reveal the identical mark. Stiles nearly flinched from the sudden burst of movement but he was too stunned by Danny abruptness that he was at a loss of what to do. Upon seeing the pale looped scar, he felt it was hard to swallow. Hard to really look at the sigil inscribed into his skin without feeling like he just tacked a target onto Danny's back.

"This," Danny said, his hand indicating the mark, "is identical to mine. This was to make sure that you no longer get forced to another plane, without your consent. If you think I didn't know what the consequences were going to be, then your an idiot. This was _my promise_ to give you that choice." Stiles felt his eyes widened and his mouth nearly drop at that confession, disbelieving of the truth in his words. "I knew from the moment we found out you were a mage that you were going to be like a magnet for supernatural trouble. A mage is not someone any take lightly. They have always been highly coveted and they always will be. They don't often get a choice in that. I know the dangers, Stiles, I always have. There are dangers even for people like me, for werewolves, for anybody who can have an advantage over another."

Stiles found himself nodding to Danny's explanation, but still didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. Danny got up off the couch to kneel down in front of Stiles, moving Luna just a bit so he could do so. He angled his face so he could forced Stiles to look at his face. Danny put his arm with his own scar next to his, both facing them. Stiles wanted to wait to see what else Danny would say, but he wanted to get it out in the open, cleanse the waters between them, and leave no more unsaid words or secrets.

"People like you," Stiles said, gently. "You mean Hedge witches?"

Whether he meant to or not, Danny gave nod, as he looked down at their arms. "Witches in general are targeted for many reasons. Hedge witches are targeted for entirely different ones."

Stiles took a deep breath before releasing it slowly. "I know what you said about Hedges witches. When you spoke to my dad about it." At Danny's surprised look Stiles quickly went on. "What I don't understand is why it seems to weigh on you."

Danny took a few moments to gather his thoughts, his breathing going deeper, his shoulders tense. When Stiles saw him swallow, he was waiting for Danny to say for him to drop it, instead he got, "It's not something I am foreign to."

"For God's sake Danny what is it?"

Stiles waited for an answer. He didn't know how long he waited. Minutes seemed to drag on for an endless period of time. The longer he waited, the more grim Danny's expression became. The tautness of his shoulders was like a harsh line compared to the usual relaxed look on the Hawaiian boy. The furrow in his brow was deep and troubled. His dark eyes downcast and clouded with an array of emotions that he was trying to hide but failing. Stiles could practically sense the unease coming from him. Riddled with anxiety, fear, guilt, shame, and sadness. Sensing he wasn't going to get an answer without prying it from Danny, Stiles took the easier way and decided to ease Danny's mind.

"Hedge witches are treated unkindly aren't they?"

Danny seemed to be unable to hide the snort of derision, but his eyes found Stiles', showing the sadness but also the surprise that Stiles guessed correctly. "That is a nice way of putting it." When Stiles stayed silent this time, Danny took a shuttering breath before he got up the courage to let the words flow. "Witches, like me, can't use their own magic. If they can it is very little at one time and it puts a strain on their body. Hedge witches have a Spark, but somehow, they can't access it fully. They can only use it to mold magic, shape it to desired effects, from other sources. They pull magical energy from someplace else, but even that can wear them down."

Stiles nodded. His mind supplying the times where he saw Danny doing magic with clarity. The boy's hand clasping the necklace, when they both did the binding ritual, when Danny showed him how to light multiple candles in his bedroom, when he saved Stiles from the wraiths in the woods enchanting vines from the ground. Each time he saw the sweat on his forehead, the tired look on Danny's face, the slightly glazed sheen to his eyes. It wasn't every time, but only when Danny seemed to do something big. Something that even Stiles knew was a little difficult in magic if you didn't know what you were doing. He even remembers Danny muttering spells under his breath, spells that Stiles didn't need to say in order for his magic to have the desired effect. It made sense now.

"So you take magic from other sources. So? What is wrong with that? I'm sure many other practitioners do it. Why have other sources if we don't use them," Stiles asked in confusion.

"Your missing the point of the sources I can take from, Stiles," Danny said hauntingly.

Stiles thought for a moment. What was he missing? Why did Danny still look so upset about this? What was wrong with taking magic from other sources if you had the chance to? There were many sources to pull magic from. There were spells, runes and sigils, objects, totems and charms, even nature itself has magic in it if you knew where to look. Just like other magic users, they were sources of-... _Oh!_

"You can siphon magic from other magic users," Stiles said. It wasn't a question, but a statement. An observation that he knew was true. Danny's face said it all.

Danny nodded as he hunched a little in on himself, but sitting back further on his legs away from Stiles. "Hedge witches are seen as blights in some ways. The magical community believe that magic users should be able to mold their Spark correctly to achieve magic or therefore not at all. It is unnatural, considered a dark art, for a witch to take the magic from another."

 "Why did you never go to Deaton," Stiles asked, wanting to know why the man never took Danny under his wing.

"I didn't know who he was until later, years later actually." Danny had exclaimed with a shrug. "It wasn't until I got a better understanding of how my magic worked that I was able to sense what he was. When I asked him to teach me, he said he couldn't. It was forbidden."

"Why?"

"Apparently Hedge witches are more trouble than they are worth. Their history has been a rather dark one. But Druids are all about balance and nature. Their beliefs are firm even in the face of past history. Druids believe Hedges are not magic users at all. They are something else, something the Nature made a mistake on."

Stiles was growing angry now. He felt his magic flash inside him at the the implication that Danny was a mistake. That he was in any way dark or evil or whatever the hell others thought of him. "Is that what Deaton said to you?"

Stiles would go over to the clinic and tear that vet a new one if that was true. Deaton had no right. He had no right to take a kid and call them 'wrong'. Druids were about Nature, but that should mean that they seek to understand Nature, understand it's creations, it's meanings, it's embodiment in the world.

Danny shook his head. "No. Deaton is one of the few who is lenient. He may be a Druid, but Deaton is caring at heart, even if he doesn't show it often."

"Then why didn't he teach you?"

"He didn't have a choice," Danny said. "The Druids set laws a long time ago, decreeing that Hedges were to have no teachers in the Druidic community. They were to be left alone. Druids would not actively harm them, but they wouldn't help them. 'Nature made them, let Nature run it's course.'" Danny added the last bit with a look of remembrance, a tone that sounded robotic, like he read that from somewhere.

They sat in silence for a while. Stiles taking in everything. So his instincts were right. When Stiles didn't tell him about his training with Chris, when he didn't put his trust in him, the trust that mattered, Danny was sent back to those feelings. It all made sense now. Danny wasn't angry at Stiles, at least not really. He was scared, scared that Stiles was starting to push him away. He was afraid that even though Danny knew Stiles had no clue about what he could do, there may have been another reason for Stiles' hiding things from him. Danny had already dealt with his anxiety and uncertainty about being gay. He had to go through that a younger kid, that was before he learned to own it and had Jackson by his side to fend off anything Danny couldn't handle. He fought for his popularity and people respected him for it. However, it didn't erase the feelings he endured. Add to it the effects of his magic. The history behind it. The feelings of wrongness and self-deprecation, now amplified even more due to what he was and not just his sexuality.

Stiles turned his arm back around, and grasped at Danny's forearm, providing a grounding to Danny, a reassurance that he did not believe in that. So to prove a point, Stiles asked a difficult question. "Have you ever taken magic from someone?"

Danny shook his head, gripping onto Stiles firmly, his deep brown eyes meeting his, pleading. It nearly broke Stiles' heart at seeing it, but he needed Danny to understand this. "Have you ever taken magic from me?"

"No," the Hawaiian boy said sternly, his eyes never leaving Stiles', his grip never faltering, his mouth a thin line. "I would never do that. Not ever."

With that, Stiles smiled gently, rubbing a soothing circle into Danny's arm, right on the scarred tissue of the Celtic knot, with his index finger. "I believe you," he said with complete honesty. "This goes without saying, but you are one of the best people that I know. If you need me to assure you of that everyday then I will. You are not bad, Danny, and you are not _wrong_. If the world wants to believe that then let them, just as they would think I am broken. This is my promise also, to have your back, as much as you have mine."

Danny's eyes went from hope filled and wary to nearly tearing up with happiness and relief. That is what made Stiles' heart soar and crumble at the same time. Seeing his friend, the boy who have done so much for him, feel inadequate and out of place, like an abomination, ridiculed and shunned because of what and who he was. Stiles couldn't stand seeing the confident, popular jock, the boy next door, the likeable Danny look so ashamed and guilty for what he was. _And the boy hadn't done anything to anybody!_  It made Stiles angry and sad, both for Danny and at himself. Stiles always prided himself on seeing beneath the surface of people, but he never imagined seeing how much pain and self-hate and distrust he felt towards himself.

But with the sparkle in his eyes, Danny seemed gently wiped away the stray tear that fell onto his cheek, now knowing that there was somebody else, somebody who wouldn't make him feel like the way he has for a long time. He was accepted, by at least somebody, for all of himself, not just what he projected on the surface, but what he couldn't share with others. Things that Stiles would bet Jackson didn't know about. There was an interesting thought.

Either way with that, Stiles pulled Danny into a tight hug, trying to convey everything he could into it. Stiles felt a little funny about this, he had to admit, feeling like he was both being weighed down and floating at the same time. Here they were putting trust into one another, not physically, where they had to protect each other's bodies from harm or death or whatever, but emotionally, the very things that made them who they were. Their fears now spoken, the things that plagued their minds, now open for the both of them to know. Stiles knew they both needed acceptance in some way, they needed someone to hold them together. Stiles could do that for Danny.

Stiles could trust Danny to do the same. He was still afraid of Danny cutting ties with him, turning away from him like Scott did, but Stiles had to swallow his fear. He couldn't live that way. He couldn't live like, well like Derek, and keep people are arms length. Maybe Derek could do it, but it would tear Stiles apart until he barely recognized himself. Stiles needed to give Danny the trust he deserved.

Which is how he said his next words over Danny's shoulder, "I did mention that I know how to find Erica and Boyd right?"

 

*** * * * * * ***

Moving away from the living room, they headed upstairs to his bedroom. Closing the door, Stiles went to gather the candles he has used for certain spells that required a circle to be made. After telling Danny what happened after he left the woods, the boy nearly growled, yes growled, at the fact of Stiles being deep in the Preserve by himself and finding the Nemeton. Stiles explained to him how he didn't find it, he was...lead to it. That was the best way to describe it. He told Danny about everything the Nemeton showed him, some things were just images and brief flashes, while others were like small snippets from a movie, playing out in his mind like a memory. Danny was both shocked and ecstatic at the same time, wanting ask questions about what it felt like, what the Nemeton felt like to him and his magic, where it was, and so on, but they didn't have time for that right now.

Danny sat on his bed in silence as Stiles moved about his room gathering what he needed. He pulled out the candles and put them in the circle, each representing the eight corners of the compass. He took out the large map of Beacon Hills, putting it the center of the circle before stepping out the ring of candles. Stiles went over to this over flowing hamper and started digging through it, throwing shirts and pants out of his way, until he came up with a small grunt of approval. He pulled out the shirt he was looking for, the gray shirt that had a few blood smears and stains on it from where he found the pack in the woods after the Alpha pack ambushed them, the one where he helped them all to heal. Danny furrowed his brows at the new item, but didn't say anything.

When he was done, he stood over the map. Danny stood up with him, but Stiles shook his head to keep him out of circle.

"So now what," Danny asked unsure.

In honest opinion, Stiles had his own doubts, but he was hoping anyway. He was hoping this worked. The Nemeton showed him what to do, so he was going to follow the magical tree. God he never thought that this would be his life.

"Now, we hope this works," he said with a quick glance at Danny before returning to the task at hand.

"And the bloody shirt?" Danny eyed it with suspicion.

"This is the next best way to test it. Everything I have read, and what the Nemeton proved was that the spell is based on a tether of sorts, of what someone cares about. Something of theirs. We thought an object or a possession of theirs that they loved or used everyday. But, I never delved deeper into what that tether could mean."

Danny gave him a cocked eyebrow, silent asking a question.

"I never gave much thought about the people they care about," Stiles said softly. "Who better than the pack?"

"So you think pack's blood will work with this."

"I'm hoping. It's not much, but the spell doesn't ask for much anyway. The blood is the connection, I am helping it find it's way."

With that Stiles began muttering the spell he needed.

As Danny watched, the candles lit on their own, nearly causing him to startle. The smell of sage and vanilla filling his nose, the feel of static in the air as the temperature in the room rose. Danny saw Stiles hold the shirt over the map, the bloodiest part over it, his lips moving quickly, Danny barely getting the words he was saying. The static made the hair on his arm and neck stand on end, he felt his own Spark hum with the energy surrounding them. In the numerous times they did a tracking spell, never was the reaction like this.

Danny saw Stiles' grip tighten on the shirt, before it looked like the blood was moving. The gray shirt looked to be darker than it did a moment ago. As he watched, the blood seemed to liquefy. It was like Stiles was using the sudden rise of heat in the room to make the dried, couple days old blood wet again at fast speeds. Danny was starting to get hot himself, but he dared not move, not wanting to disturb the sight of the young mage in front of him performing magic he hadn't seen before. With each passing second, Stiles seemed to speak quicker, his voice melting into whispers that seemed to blend over one another like multiple voices were joining in.

A scarlet drop appeared at the center of the largest stain, the blood darkening the shirt more and more, before the single drop of blood fell, aimed over the map. It fell and hit on the edge of town. Danny thought that maybe that was the end of the spell, but Stiles was still muttering, holding the shirt above the map and then another drop fell, landing onto the first, making a bigger one. Danny felt his eyes widen as the blood slowly moved over the map, leaving a wet pinkish-red trail behind as it glided over the papery surface. The invisible force guiding it into the town, sliding over buildings and streets. Danny saw it pass over the school, turning just a little before it kept going on it's path. Before Danny knew it, the candles' flames went higher and higher, nearly reaching the height of his thighs, before they extinguished themselves in the blink of an eye. 

Stiles' muttering had stopped as quick as the candles went out, the static in the air flowing away as if blown by an invisible wind. When he looked at Stiles, the boy had his eyes open, they were glowing a faint golden color, a light sheen of sweat on his brow. When Stiles met Danny's gaze, his eyes melted back into their whiskey brown, a small, tired, smile on his lips. They both looked down at the map, taking in the site of the bloodied trail that stretched across more than half the town drawing. They squatted down to have a closer look at where the blood had stopped.

"The hardware store," Danny said skeptically as he looked at the tightly drawn buildings.

Stiles shook his head beside him. "No, no over here, on the other side of the street. The old bank. The one that closed down a year ago."

"So" Danny began dragging out the 'o'. "The spell worked?"

Stiles nodded, a small smile on his face. "Yeah, it did. I could feel it, I could feel the pull to this place."

"Why would the Alpha pack-"

"I don't know, but it's a rather perfect spot. And unexpected."

"How so?"

"It was closed a year ago. It hasn't been sold to anyone and the town has been trying to either demolish it or alter it into something else. What with the money being moved to the other bank on Lantern Rd., it is virtually empty and abandoned until the town council figures out what to do with it. the fact that its' In town, even near the edge shows that it is hiding in plane sight. The pack has been searching for abandoned buildings and settlements on the outside of town, near the construction sites where there are still buildings being demolished and those being rebuilt. Too much activity going on around there. Then there is the Preserve, something the pack, also Derek and Peter, know well. There's not many places to hide out there that they may already know about. The Preserve also wouldn't be able to hide scents as well as the middle of town, where there is far more traffic and activity."

"But this is still near the Preserve, on the northwestern part of town. If abandoned buildings were what they were looking at, wouldn't this one stick out? Wouldn't people notice random people going in the abandoned bank on a daily basis."

Stiles shrugged his lips along with his shoulders. "Not if they are werewolves who move at faster speeds to easily avoid prying eyes. Also the alpha pack is trying to hide out. I doubt they leave daily. I also think they don't 'all' leave. So far, we have only seen the twins. The pack was ambushed by them all once and it was quick. A technique to keep them on their toes."

Danny seemed to consider all of this, taking in the facts that Stiles laid out. He had to admit it sounded smart, but also ludicrous. But then an Alpha pack who prides themselves on tearing apart other packs and killing others, forcing other Alpha to either join them by killing their packs or dying themselves, well crazy and ludicrous may just be the perfect fit. You would need a little crazy to think like them. Or maybe you just needed to be Stiles, who always thought about the things people wouldn't see on their own. 

"Alright," Danny said slowly. "So what do we do?"

Stiles stayed silent for a few moments before looking at Danny. With a grin slowly spreading on his face, Danny was starting to get the idea that Stiles might be a bit crazy too. "I have a plan."

 

*** * * * * * ***

"The plan is a go."

"The plan is stupid," Danny says beside him. "Like this is such a stupid idea. Why did I let you talk me into this?"

"After all that complaining about how I had been leaving you behind, doing dangerous things by myself? What happened to all of that?"

"That was before I realized what a stupid plan you came up with." Danny said petulantly.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "It's not that bad."

"Really. I mean really?"

"Look just go. I'll be heading your way, so be ready to catch me," Stiles said as they hovered a few building away from the closed down bank. It was late at night. A faint misting in the air from overhead rain clouds that hadn't yet started making rainwater. Stiles could see his skin glisten just a little at the small amount of water in the air, but it wasn't enough to distract him. He had to remain focused. They were going to break Erica and Boyd out, tonight.

They had spent the whole day making a plan. Thankfully, the town was quiet in this area. Also what made this easier was knowing that the twin Alphas, Aidan and Ethan, were going to Heather's birthday party tonight. Stiles wasn't happy about them being there surrounded by unsuspecting human students, but then maybe they had orders to go and observe, keep an eye on the pack if they went. Stiles had asked Lydia when they were at school earlier to go to the party in place of him, not going into detail about why, but saying that he wanted the twins distracted. Lydia was agitated twenty ways till Sunday at his refusal of anymore information, but eventually she gave in after Stiles said for her to bring Jackson and Allison along. The young huntress was still around school, looking on the outs of the pack, but she was still hanging around Lydia when the redhead was not with the pack. Stiles had been meaning to talk to Allison, being a few times where they both had met each other's glances in passing, but neither seeming to get up the courage to say something first. Stiles didn't know where to begin and he also hadn't kept up to what all Allison actually knows about what her family has done. Whether or not the girl accepted the invitation to the party, he didn't know. But for now, he was putting his priorities in order.

Stiles was a little disappointed in not going to his childhood friend's birthday, but he was going to make it up to her later. She was turning seventeen so he was going to make sure that he gave her a present to tell her had hadn't forgotten. He wondered if her wish from a year ago to lose her virginity was still going on for this year. Or if she had already lost it. Stiles would both be envious and happy for her, at least so he thought anyway.

He would love to be anywhere else right now, but this was more pressing. After the summer of trying to learn as much as he could, trials and errors, successes and fails, he was going to free Erica and Boyd. A part of him was nervous, scared even of what they would do when they saw him. He was more afraid of what they would say to him, afraid that they would tell Derek and the other's of how he abandoned them. It made his stomach twist, but he pushed that down. There was a group of Alphas to deal with first. 

Stiles gave Danny a nod, Stiles muttering a quick spell so that Danny's scent was masked completely. They began to move away from their hiding place, Danny heading in the direction of the Preserve behind the bank, taking care to move as quickly and as silently as possible. Stiles watched carefully as he kept track of Danny until the shadows of the forest swallowed him up completely. He felt his nerves flutter inside him, his fear itching in the back of his head. He didn't want to leave Danny out there on his own, but they both had a task to do. Plus Danny wasn't completely defenseless. Stiles had to trust that things would go well. He had to believe that.

Taking one deep breath, Stiles moved towards the old building. As he walked he kept his eyes and ears out for everything. Any sounds of nearby people or cars, never taking his eyes off the building in case any of the Alphas came out. Muttering under his breath, he did a quick spell to hide his heartbeat, but not his scent. He would need that for later. 

He moved around the building slowly, circling it in measure steps before making a quick leap upwards. He used his magic to push him up higher onto the roof of the building. Good thing it was only two stories high. He read the blueprints that Danny had found earlier that day of the building, knowing there were two skylights on the roof. Looking down through of them, he was happy to know that the windows were still in good condition. He was surprised though to see below the thin window pane to the bank floor below, where the Alpha were standing in all their grizzly glory.

He was able to make out three other Alpha, which makes five in total, corresponding the original number he suspected. There were two men and a woman inside. Walking just a little down the window, he was able to see who was actually in charge. The Alpha of Alpha's was lounging on a what looked like a reclining beach chair, but had a couple more pillows behind his back, making it more comfortable than one should be. He was wearing a dark, tailored suit, ankles crossed on the chair, looking older than Peter, but more refined. He also wore dark red glasses, but Stiles wasn't sure why. They looked like the kind of glasses for people who were blind. That didn't make sense, did it? He was fiddling with a long white staff, his clawed nails tapping at the wood as he twisted the point of the stick on the ground slowly in a clear show of boredom. 

There were two other's, a broadly muscled and tall, bald man, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, Stiles guessed he was the meathead of the group, and a mocha skin woman, who was pacing around the place, like a caged animal, just waiting to get out of it's confinement. Stiles noticed her feet were bare, the claws on her toes tapping against the tiled floor as she walked. It was safe to say that the sight alone would make anyone thing she was insane.

He then saw a slight bit of movement near the bald Alpha. He arched a little over the window to get a clearer look just to find the vault built into the wall. The large steel door was open, but what was inside made him still. His own breathing stopping completely as he saw Erica and Boyd, sitting inside on two small chairs. They were there and they alive.

From what he could make out, they were relatively unharmed, but the more he watched them, the more he realized they were not moving. They weren't moving at all. He had to use his magic to enhance his own hearing, setting it on the two betas in the vault, hoping that his sight was failing him. Quickly he found their heartbeats, slow and steady, but for whatever reason, they were sitting there, unmoving. They were tied to the chairs, their hands and arms bound behind their back with chains and ropes, not doubt dipped in wolfsbane, but they didn't seem at all bother by them. They didn't seem bothered by anything. Before dropping the spell to heart their heartbeats and their breathing, he heard another heart, this one closer than the others. He ducked slightly to try and see deeper into the vault, noticing a another wold positioned behind the two unresponsive betas. It was a girl, with long dark hair, golden eyes that glowed with unspoken anger. She was bound with chains and ropes like the other two, but this one was standing upright, her hands bound above her head as her legs were tied together at the ankles. The mysterious girl was snapping her fangs and growling as she twitched and hissed with the pull of the poisoned rope around her exposed wrists. Stiles could sense something about her, she seemed, well he didn't know, but he had the strange sense of familiarity with her. 

Either way, he knew that he needed to save her two. He needed to get them out of there.

Which was why he put his next part of the plan in motion. He pulled out his phone, calling the first number, he could pull up quickly. Isaac answered on the second ring.

"Stiles," the beta said down the line. "What's up? I thought you were going to that Heather girl's party. Not having fun?"

Stiles resisted rolling his eyes. "Isaac now is not the time for pleasantries. Is Derek and Peter with you?"

There was slight pause before he heard some shuffling on the other end before Stiles heard Derek's voice. "What do you want Stiles?"

Stiles gritted his teeth at the gruff tone of the Alpha. He was nearly about to spat retorts at the man and his Neanderthal mannerisms, but there was a time and place for that. "I found them," he said plainly.

"Found who," Peter's voice came next, sounding just as close as Derek's. Stiles guess Isaac put him on speaker.

"I found Erica and Boyd."

There was some shuffling on the line that Stiles was trying to smother on his speaker in the Alpha's could hear, but it quickly stopped where Derek's voice came into the speaker, this time sounding much clearer. "Where are they," he said quickly, a little shakily.

"You know that bank on the northwestern part of town, the one that closed down a year ago. They are here," Stiles whispered, hoping to keep his voice down as the woman Alpha walked under the window he was hovering over.

"'Here'," Derek said tightly through the speaker. "What do you mean 'here?' Are...are you there," he almost sounded incredulous.

Stiles nodded before realizing that Derek couldn't see him. "I am looking at them now. They seem fine. They are tied up, but they seem to be okay. I mean from what I can see they are okay. I can't be sure, but they are not moving. Both of them seem to be, maybe sleeping, just with their eyes open. They haven't moved the slightest."

"Why the hell are you there," Derek hissed at him.

"Stiles, are you safe? Can they see you," Peter's voice comes through the phone before Stile can answer Derek.

"No, they can't. I'm on the roof, looking down at them. The betas are in the vault, along with another wolf. She is being held prisoner too."

He could hear more shuffling and some static on the line, followed by grunts and the slide of something heavy and metal, before followed by quick breathing. "Stiles stay out of sight. If they see you, they will kill you. You should have called before going out there," Derek said into the speaker, for once sounding...concerned as the man breathed through the phone.

"No shit," Stiles couldn't resist the sarcasm to the Alpha's claim of what would happen if he was caught. Although Derek didn't know about what Stiles was truly capable of. "I had to be sure they were here first."

"We are on our way," Derek growled. "Do not move and keep your mouth shut, do you understand?"

Stiles rolled his eyes then, making a sound that was a cross between a growl and a snort, looking up at the starry sky as if praying for patience. "Worry about your pack, Hale. Just get here and get them out."

"Stiles-"

Stiles hung up the phone. He had cut off Derek before he could finish his threat or no doubt retort. Stiles had to hurry.

"I can handle myself thank you very much," he said, annoyed. The pack was coming so he had to make sure that their path was clear. Which meant he next phase of the plan was about to start. Stiles wasn't sure if this next part would work, but he had to make sure it did. The pack and the betas were counting on it. Turns out, he didn't need to do much, because when he looked back at the window, he was met with two pairs of glowing red eyes.

It was then he realized that he spoke a little louder than he intended to. The woman, growled heavily at him, while the bald man roared. The leader, just had his head tilted upward, his red glasses still seeming as shine like the other Alpha's real eyes. The smile on his face was downright sinister and filled with malicious joy. He tilted his head up, seeming to look right at Stiles, just like the other two. His smile was still in place when he spoke.

"Well what a pleasant surprise."

Stiles chose that moment to finish up his plan. Turning away from the window, he quickly went towards the edge of the roof before leaping off, using his magic to land easily as he started to run. It wasn't until he heard the roar from behind him that he turned to look. He saw all three Alpha's briskly walking towards him. Seeming to enjoy the stalking. He ran around down the street, turning towards the Preserve where Danny had left towards a while ago. He prayed this all worked. He needed to give the pack time, so this had to work. It had too. 

He could hear the growls and the sound of footfalls behind him. He pushed his magic into his legs, urging himself to run faster. He knew he wasn't faster than the wolves, but he could give them a run. Predators like the chase right?

He heard the call from behind him, the sound of the lead Alpha's voice ringing out into the night. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be boy. We just want to have a little fun," the man said in a growled sultry voice.

Stiles turned around quickly, raising his hand above his head as he thrust it down, already having pulled a dagger from the sheath on his forearm beneath his hoodie. He threw it at perfect precision, only taking a quick moment to see where the Alpha's were, aiming for the one who held the most sway. The knife sailed threw the air, nearly about to impale the Alpha in the chest before he waved his stick in front of him, snapping the blade away in a quick motion before it could touch him. Stiles saw the knife fall to the ground, seeing the wide eyes from the other Alpha's followed by the growls and then the wicked smile spread on the leader's face.

"This is going to be fun," he heard the man say.

He turned and ran, hoping to lead the Alpha's into the woods, forgetting about the bank. He prayed that they focused on the idea of an intruder, one that they wanted to dispatch in fear of keeping their discretion. But since he attacked their Alpha, their leader, he hoped it would spur them all to keep on the chase. Hopefully his act would cause them to realize he wasn't just an ordinary kid. If he had to pass for a hunter, then so be it, as long as he got them a good ways away from the bank and therefore the pack.

Zig-zagging around the trees, leading them further into the Preserve, he kept pushing himself. Dodging around trees and foliage, leaping and ducking over rocks and branches. He could hear the snarls and the shifting of the leaves from the three wolves behind him, but he couldn't pay attention to them. He had to keep going. He wasn't there yet. It wasn't until he zigged a little too far to the right that he felt a solid mass shove at him, knocking him off balance. He stumbled to the ground, rolling over the dirt and dead leaves. The almost feral sound growl echoing in his ears as he pulled himself up from the roll, ignoring the ache in his shoulder. He saw the bald wolf towering over him, his claws ready as he lunged for him again, but this time Stiles was ready, moving faster than he believed he could, he pulled the longer knife from the sheath behind his back and swiped it in a long arc across the Alpha's chest as he dodged to the side. Twisting in a circled, he swiped it across again to slice into the man's lower back, making him howl in pain before he tried to reach for Stiles again.

Stiles had already moved, running back in the direction he needed to go, nearly cut off by the woman who snarled at him, cutting through the air with her long claws, just for Stiles to duck underneath them, rolling across the ground and taking a smaller knife from his other forearm to stab it down into the ground, right into her foot, making her scream in agony. He didn't look back as he ran, bursting through the thicket of the woods. His magic roaring inside him, almost feeling thrilled and energetic at the chase. Stiles could still feel his fear, but he didn't stop it. He needed that. He felt his magic coil inside him, sending waves of it's warmth through his limbs as he willed it to push his body harder, giving him a burst of speed and endurance.

He kept going for a few more minutes, winding into the Preserve deeper and deeper, hearing the cries and roars behind him. He could sense the Alpha's still behind him coming closer and closer. He needed to make sure they wouldn't give up the chase. He needed to make sure that they were angry enough to keep going. Taking out the dud grenade he threw it behind him, saying the spell as he threw it. He didn't care where it landed, just that when it made impact with the ground it would get the job done. Sure enough when the grenade hit the ground, it sounded like it went off, sending dirt, leaves, sticks and debris into the air. There was no fire to explosion, that was not how the spell worked. It was just to make it seem like one, just without the burn. It was like someone dropped a large rock in a pool of water where it all splashes outwards, this was very similar except instead of water, it was earth.

He heard the cries and angry outburst from behind him, signaling that the Alphas were close enough to not only feel the effects of his spell, but also hear the blast a little to closely. Smiling to himself he kept running. He was nearly there. When he felt a familiar charge in the air, he knew it was time. He muttered a spell, saying it three times, before rounding two trees that grew together before it all stopped for him. He felt his body being risen up from the ground quickly, before he felt the warm hands around his hips, his body being held tightly to another.

He looked over his shoulder to find Danny sitting on a heavy branch, his eyes closed as he was muttering a spell under his breath before stopping it and then switching over to another spell almost simultaneously. Stiles watched from high above in the tree tops as they saw the three Alphas come around the tree a mere moment later, all of them looking flustered and murderous. They paused for a moment before a little in the distance there was a rustling behind the bushes. Stiles looked up and almost smirked as he saw his spell fully activated. 

A few meters away, going in different directions, there were three complete copies of himself, running for their 'lives', flailing arms and all as he-they-ran through the forest. The woman caught sight of one of him, snarling at his back before following after him. The other two sniffed the air, The big muscled one, looking at the woman before hearing a grunt to his right, locking onto another Stiles who was ducking under low branches.

"There he is," the man said, taking off after him, growling with his red eyes flashing as he did.

This left the Alpha of Alphas, his white stick balanced over his shoulder, a smirk on his face. He tilted his head to the side, listening no doubt, before hearing the rustlings to the left. The blind man turned in that direction, his smile growing more toothy. Stiles and Danny sat completely still, Danny holding onto Stiles tightly as Danny continued to whisper in Latin behind him. Stiles was hoping this would work, he was praying for it.

Stiles watched as the Alpha took a deep breath, cocking his head to the side. He spoke in a chilling, growly tone, "Well, you are full of surprises. I would like to own a witch like you." Stiles knew that the Alpha was not speaking to anyone, not even to the Stiles he was honing in on, but more to himself. The predatory, wolfish expression on his face, not even marred by the reddish glasses on his face. Stiles could practically feel the dark intent on the man. Then the man took of running, making it seem so effortless and fluid, that Stiles wondered if the man was actually blind, following the scent that Stiles made sure to add to his doppelgangers. Stiles wasn't sure how long it would take before they caught up to his clones, but he hoped it wasn't too soon. Like Danny, he closed his eyes and focused. Sending his magic out towards the his shadow selves, encouraging them to keep going, giving them a little more speed in it's limbs as they ran for their short, somewhat life.

He watched and listened as the growls and rustles of leaves and snaps of twigs faded away. The backs of the Alphas disappearing into the night. Even then they still didn't move. They waited for a few more moments, Stiles finally taking note of how silent it was. Danny had stopped muttering, and the sound of the nights wildlife was starting to become active again as the predators had left. Crickets, owls, frogs, and lightning bugs, joining each other in making themselves known.

When Stiles felt the arms on his body slacken a little and felt Danny's head press against his shoulder, he turned to see the sweat on Danny's forehead. Danny has exhausted too much energy in bringing Stiles up here and hiding their scents and heartbeats while Stiles focused on his doppelgangers. He wasn't pale in color, but he did look a bit drained. After waiting another few minutes, both of them just breathing and catching their nerves, he looked at Danny to see the boy looking back at him, a small smile on his face.

"What," Stiles asked.

"I guess it wasn't a _completely_ stupid plan."

Stiles chuckled, nodding slowly. Stiles knew they needed to leave. They had to get back to town before the Alphas came back this way. Stiles still wasn't sure how long they had, so every minute counted. "Come on," he said quietly. "We need to get back."

Danny nodded, before Stiles and he pushed off the branch, quickly saying a spell to absorb their impact on the ground, making it feel like they stepped on a pillow. When they got back on the ground, they heard howl come from the direction of Beacon Hills, back from where they came. This wasn't familiar to Stiles. This one was not from the pack, he thought. It was someone different.

Turning back to Danny, they both turned and ran, Stiles pushing his magic into them to speed up their return. For the hundredth time that night, he sent up a prayer that things were going to be okay. For once things needed to be okay.


	21. A Rampage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO HELLO! THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT! Got another chapter up and another to follow soon. Hope this is living up to your wishes. I know I keep leaving each chapter off on cliff hangers, but I can't help it. Who wants a boring ending to a chapter when it is just too much fun this way. lol The Angst is really going to come into play in the next few chapters. And yes, Erica and Boyd's condition will be explained. Kisses till next time!!! HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

Derek was a mixture of emotions that were bubbling inside him. So many crowding for dominance. His wolf was baring it's teeth and howling in his head, telling him to hurry. He bounded down the stairs from his loft, not taking the lift, Peter and Isaac right behind him. Isaac was texting Scott and Jackson telling them what was happening, but Derek didn't care to stop. They were piling into his Camaro, none of the doors completely shut by the time Derek was gunning it out of the lot and onto the road.

_Dammit Stiles!_

What is with that kid and his lack of self-preservation? Didn't he care about his life? Derek thought the boy had more sense than this, had more sense of protecting himself and wouldn't go running off just to find trouble, no matter how plausible his theories or ideas would be. What about his dad? What about Scott? Stiles had to care about them, about what it would do to them if he got hurt, right?

Derek liked to believe that. He wanted to believe that Stiles didn't have death wish. Yet he couldn't help but think that what if...what if this was...a way of getting back at Derek. Was this Stiles' way of saying he didn't need Derek or the pack. Surely that wasn't it. He had Scott and Allison, apparently Lydia as well since the girl smells more like him any time she has been around recently. Much to Jackson's annoyance. Derek wasn't sure, but it seemed that maybe Stiles and Scott were arguing, going through a rough patch of sorts, but that wasn't his business. He has had enough teenage drama and it wasn't affecting him or his pack so why should he care.

Why should he care? Stiles isn't pack. Derek doesn't trust him, not after what happened with Gerard, doesn't trust Scott either. Stiles has already proven his resolve to only be helping his betas, protecting his father, nothing else.

 _He already found your betas. Something you couldn't do,_ the words echoing in the back of his mind.

Derek nearly shook his head as he pressed on the gas more. They had to hurry. Stiles was in the presence of Alphas, they wouldn't hesitate to kill him if they suspected his snooping around or his association with the pack in any way. Despite any claims that he is not pack, Derek believed the Alphas would still kill him. He couldn't let that happen. He _won't_ let that happen.

Pulling up to the bank, he jerked it to a stop, the tires squealing a little. He didn't care if he made a noise. The Alphas would have already heard they were coming. They threw open their doors and climbed out, running to get inside the building. They stopped when they found door slightly open. Derek extended his hearing, trying to listen for the inevitable growls and snarls from the Alphas. His fear of hearing Stiles' screams or whimpers of pain, or worse nothing at all, is what drove him to no longer wait on the top steps of the old bank.

Reaching the door, he pushed it open, letting his eyes flash red, getting a better look into the dark building. The first thing he noticed was that it was empty. There were no light on. The banks floors and counters were dusty, except from the paths and smudges from where recent footsteps have broken up the dust build-up. Some of the windows were boarded up, but it didn't look like it was by any of town's doing, but by the Alpha's. Haphazardly placed, but enough to make it so people couldn't look in easily. Derek looked up to see the skylights. He had hoped to see Stiles' form just outside one of them, the briefest of flashes of his face, his hair, even his favored red hoodie, but there was nothing. His hearing couldn't pick anything up outside and inside was just as quiet, except for heartbeats.

The more he listened, the better he could hear them. Two, no three of them. He remembered Stiles' words, saying he found the betas, that he could see them. Along with another. Pressing forward, he focused on the thumping of the beats in his ears. Two were slower, calmer, almost sluggish. One other was pumping heavily, fast but still steady. Turning around a counter, leading towards the back, Peter inching on his heels, his own eyes glowing a bright blue with Isaac behind them, keeping an eye on the exits, the vault came into view. The door was heavy, made of steel and iron, was visible first, pulled open away from the inside, set off to the side. The room beyond was partially aglow with a low yellow light. Derek could see two figures, sitting in chairs in front of the entrance. Unmistakably a girl and a boy. The closer they got, the better he could see them.

Derek felt his breath hitch in his throat as he stood in the entrance of the vault.

"We need to hurry Derek,” Peter whispered as he moved behind him, trying to see inside, his eyes finding who they wanted easily. Isaac was waiting behind them, his yellow eyes still scanning the exits.

Upon seeing Erica and Boyd, Derek's wolf whined and he nearly let it out of his mouth for real. They were so still, like they were frozen. Neither moved a muscle not even at the appearance of their Alpha. If he even was still their Alpha.

They had run away. Telling him he treated them like shit. That they were better off not staying if they were trading one confining life for another. Derek remembered their words, and as much as they stung, it hurt more when he had no argument. They were right. They ran and look where it got them all because of Derek. Now here they were tied up, dirty and no doubt starving. They both looked like they had lost weight, even Boyd who was still muscular, but seemed to have lost some definition. They both looked weaker, malnourished, paler. Yet they were so still, they looked like they were barely breathing. He had to listen, concentrate of hearing their heartbeats and the steady breath that left their noses as they breathed, just to make himself relax a smidgen. Even standing in front of them, they didn't move, nothing in their expressions changed. They were impassive, unseeing eyes, glazed over without any recognition to speak of. It was exactly as Stiles described, almost catatonic.

It wasn’t until he heard a soft name being called out that he was broken from his shock of seeing his betas in their current state. 

“Derek?”

He looked up to find a girl partial standing in the shadows behind the betas a little off to the side. Her hands were bound and raised above her head. Sweat and grime on the exposed skin of her arms. Her long dark hair shimmering even under the low yellow light near the entrance. Upon closer inspection he could see her clothes were dirty and a little torn, but otherwise she looked unharmed but uncomfortable. When took a small step forward, her face came into the light more and Derek nearly fell to his knees with the features that spoke so well to him.

The dark hair, actually chocolate brown in color a mirror color do her eyes, framing a light skinned complexion. Delicate features, but with cheekbones that could pass for maturity and grace. Pink, full lips silently quivering although he could tell it wasn't from any cold. It was the face of someone he long thought gone from this world. Long since lost to him.

"C-Cora?"

Peter was next to him, his heart pounding in his chest, his eyes wide as they landed on the girl that looked older and yet somehow still the same from eight years ago. When they just at each other for a moment, neither daring to breathe or speak, it was like the world suddenly stopped. Derek didn't know if this was real or not. Was it real?

Slowly, her lips still shaking, her eyes glassy with gathering tears, reflecting the emotions of surprise, hope, uncertainty, and relief back at Derek and Peter, the girl nodded. In a quick movement, Peter was next to her, ripped the chains out of the wall, snapping a few of the links. He hissed at the wolfsbane infused ropes, but pulled out a pocket knife to cut through the bindings as Cora was able to now lower her arms in who knows how long. Derek could hear a cracking from the sudden movement of muscles and the wince on her face. As soon as the bindings were cut away, the girl pounced, jumping into Derek that he almost fell back, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder.

Her hair was partially covering his face, soft and silken, despite it's unkempt appearance. He could smell the sweat and grime, the salt that emanated from her skin and from the tears that were now pouring out of her, wetting Derek's shirt. He stood for just a moment, too shocked to move, before catching the scent he remembered from her. The scent that reminded him of years past. The scent of home. Lavender with a hint of vanilla. His arms came up and wrapped around her waist, tightly holding onto her, almost like she would disappear again. His mind couldn't grasp that she was here. Cora was really here. His little sister, his baby sister, she was alive!

Her sniffled and soft whimpers were muffled into his shoulder as she clutched at his shoulders, rubbing her face into his shirt, almost like she also couldn't believe he was here too. She was scenting him as well, taking deep lungfuls of air, taking in her big brother, as she sobbed heavy tears. Derek wished he could stay like this, wished they could take the time to get the story, to get hold on until they were ready to let go, but he knew they didn't have the time. He could see Erica and Boyd out of the corner of his eye and he needed to get them out of here. He needed to get them all out of here.

He also needed to find Stiles. Where was he? Where were the Alphas? He dared not think about the possibility of them chasing Stiles. He could already see the terror on Stiles' face. He had to find him.

Pull back he braced Cora's face gently between his hand, getting her to look up at him.

"Cora, we need to get out of here. Where are the Alphas?"

Cora sniffled for a moment, before quickly schooling her features, trying to push aside her feelings for the moment until they were safe. She shook her head, "I don't know. They-they just left, but they heard someone. Someone was on the roof and Kali heard them. They all went after them."

 _Shit. No this can't be real,_ Derek thought. 

"Could you see who it was," Derek asked, speaking through a clenched jaw. Cora looked confused by the question, but she shook her head. "Fuck. We need to hurry. Peter-"

Peter was already untying Erica and Boyd. Oddly enough, the betas weren't tied down with wolfsbane ropes, just chains. So Peter was able to handle it quickly. He was carefully unwrapping both of the betas, eyeing them with looks of curiosity and worry etched into his face. They still didn't move, no matter what Peter did, no matter how loose their bindings became. When they were completely untied, they still didn't stir. It was unnerving.

"Already ahead of you," Peter said, still not looking away from the betas. "We need to find him. It hasn't been too long. He's smart, he wouldn't be out here without a plan."

Derek knew that, but it still didn't deter the feelings of dread and fear, even worry in his gut. Isaac whined behind them. "Guys, Scott and Jackson texted back, they are almost here. They both have tried getting hold of Stiles. He's not answering."

"Let's go," Derek said, turning towards Erica and Boyd. As worrisome as it was that his betas still haven't moved or said a word, they had to get out of here first. They had to find Stiles. Once they did that and Stiles and the rest of them were safe, then they could find out what's going on. After Derek yelled at Stiles for his incredible stupidity and lack of self-preservation.

"Stiles," Cora said behind him. "Stilinski?"

"You know him," Isaac had asked from beside Boyd who he was trying to coax to stand to no avail. It wasn't until Peter helped haul him up and then, wrap an arm around his shoulder, with Isaac doing the same that they were able to get the boy out of the chair.

"Yeah, I know him. He was two grades below me. I always saw him around school. Wait, He's here," she asked with her eyes scanning the bank, a look of surprise written on her face.

Peter grunted under Boyd's arm. "No, we need to find him. If the Alpha's get him..."

Peter didn't need to finish that sentence. It sent a cold chill down Derek's spine. As annoying as Stiles is, as uncontrollable and unpredictable, and despite him not being pack, Derek wouldn't wish the boy harm. He wouldn't wish the torment and pain the Alpha's would no doubt deal out to him, if they weren't doing that already. That thought sent another shiver through him. He bent to pick Erica up, carrying her bridal style in his arms. She felt lighter than she should. 

"Let's go, now," Derek said again. This time they all left. They hurried out of the bank, keeping their eyes and ears open, intently listening for anything coming their way. Derek led the way, carrying Erica in his arms, trying to keep her from bouncing. Her head wasn’t laying on his shoulder, she still hadn’t been moved and he could feel the slight beating of her heart. It was calm, too calm.

Behind him, Isaac and Peter helped carry Boyd out, well helped drag him out rather. His shoes were scuffing against the concrete floor, his head lolling downward against his chest. Derek was worried for his betas, but they had to find safety first. They had to find Stiles too. Derek could not think about anything else but those two tasks.

Cora helped push open the door, giving way for the rest of them to get out. Entering the night air, feeling the pull of the day away full moon, it made him feel antsier, the prickle on his skin from where his wolf was itching inside him. The wolf was growling, howling, pawing at him to hurry, to find Stiles, to find shelter, find home. The sound of a sports car came from the street beside the bank, a silver Porsche pulling up to barely park before it's doors were opening. Jackson and Scott were coming out of the front seats, followed by Lydia. And surprising everyone else, Allison Argent.

"What is she doing here," Derek growled. The girl had the sense to look a little chastised, but still never broke stride as the teens came up the steps to help them. She didn't have her bow and arrows, nor any other weapon that was visible, but Derek knew better than to underestimate a hunter. Especially an Argent.

"She's here to help," Isaac said beside him. When Derek turned his eyes to him, he looked away from his Alpha. "She's here to help find Stiles."

"Have you found a trace of him," Scott asked with wide eyes. 

Derek shook his head, "We haven't had the chance to look. I couldn't smell him in the bank."

"Damn him, I told him to not do something stupid," Lydia muttered, thinking the others couldn't hear her.

"What?"

Upon hearing Derek's growly voice, she stared back, stunned at what she just let loose. "Um..uh."

"You knew?"

She shook her head quickly. "He didn't tell me, just that he had an idea about where and that he couldn't come to the party tonight."

"Can we hurry this along, my best friend is missing and is being hunted by Alphas," Scott pleaded.

"Well he's dead, we tried," Jackson said dryly with a smirk.

Derek had to fight the urge to claw the smirk off his face. Scott seemed to be on edge as well. Lydia however, didn't seem the lease bit affected about raising her hand to crack it against the back of Jackson's head. He nearly fell forward with the surprising force, but gave her a betrayed look. One she returned with a glare that was as cold as the ice. Jackson returned his gaze to the ground, but didn't say anything more.

"We need to split up and find him," Allison said, trying to get everyone back on track.

"We need to get these two back to the loft," Peter said with a nod to Boyd beside him.

Scott came closer to look at both Boyd and Erica. Derek resisted another growl at Scott getting to close to him and Erica, especially when she was so pliant in his arms. He has not forgiven Scott for his working with Gerard. Scott hasn't made the effort to show his remorse or ask for forgiveness so Derek was barely tolerant of the kid right now. After everything they have done together, all the time Derek has put into helping Scott, he thought the boy would get his head out of his ass, accept Derek as his Alpha, but somewhere down the road, Scott became even more resistant towards him. Derek was at a loss about it, but it didn't change what Scott did. It didn't change what he and Stiles cooked up behind his back.

"What's wrong with them," the boy asked with his normal puppy faced confusion.

Derek made to push past Scott, heading towards his car. They didn't have time for explanations or questions. They had to get them to safety. They had to find Stiles. Derek could feel his heart pounding in his chest with anxiety and adrenaline. Near full moon or no, the thoughts of Stiles being torn to pieces by the Alphas was enough to unsettle him. The boy may have wronged Derek, and Derek may not trust him, but he didn't wish the boy dead.

Seeming to get the hint, the others followed. They went down the steps, heading around Cora beside him when she stopped. Suddenly going still just outside the banks shadow. She was standing in the moon’s glow, like the rest of them. Then as quick as she stopped, she nearly doubled over, clutching at her head. Her face morphing into one of pure animal. Her features shifted, her brows disappearing, her teeth elongating, claws out and sharp, her ears pointed.

"Cora,” Peter called beside her with Isaac and the still immobile Boyd. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer. Instead she growled. Her eyes flashing a brilliant yellow, eyeing all of them, complete unseeing. Her head raised and Derek knew what was about to happen, he could feel his wolf inside, pacing about, swiping at him for attention. She raised her head towards the moon, and howled, well more roared, but still it caused them all to nearly want to close their ears with their hands. It was guttural and...ravenous. Echoing around them that Derek nearly dropped Erica to close his hand over Cora's mouth to quiet her. He feared the Alpha's, where ever they were, would hear her and come running.

Cora didn't miss a beat as soon as her roar died, breaking off into a run, heading for the woods. Derek shoved Erica into Jackson’s arms, nearly toppling the boy from surprise, before lunging for his sister, wrapping her in his arms to stop her. He immediately felt her claws in his arms. Peter and Scott coming up in front of them, their arms poised outward in both defense and in placation. Her growls and snarls ripping from her throat at being restrained and made to calm down. Derek couldn't understand it. What was happening? What was wrong with his sister?

*** * * * * * ***

Stiles and Danny saw the end of the scene before them. It happened so fast that they hadn’t no chance of reacting logically. Stiles was always one to act out without thinking, but somehow he the most he could dive was watch, his eyes wide, his breath hitches in his throat, his heart hammering. 

He wasn’t forced to watch as he and Danny valentine upon the edge of the woods, heading closer to the buildings, he was able to make out the bank, with the the Camaro pulled haphazardly up to the side of the front steps closer to the side of the building. The closer they got, they inches around, hoping that the decoy act they made for the Alphas didn’t make them come back so early or that the twins weren’t there. The Camaro being there was a good thing, but it wasn’t really a comforting sight to Stiles either. After hearing the roar from the woods, he wasn’t expecting an all out battle or something equally bad. He wasn’t not keen on dealing with Hale or his pack, but he wasn’t more keen on not dealing with the Alpha pack. He just wanted to get Erica and Boyd safely away from here.

But upon hearing the grunts and snarls, following by lots of growling and what sounded like hard pounding like skin hitting skin, he was adamant to stay a little ways off. Danny seemed to have the same idea as he stuck close, staying quiet that Stiles had to look behind him twice to make sure he was still there. The sound of another roar, this omen cut off by a resounding grunt, made them move quicker, ducking into the shadows.

He saw the pack, all out side, with Erica and Boyd, both of them being carried by members of the pack. Isaac having to hold up Boyd alone, while Erica was being carried carefully by Jackson as Lydia stood nearby. 

Peter and Scott were busy trying to hold off the flailing limbs of another wolf, the one Stiles saw in the vault. The one with the long hair and the fierce eyes. She was swiping at them with outstretched claws, kicking at them and snapping her teeth. The only one holding her back was Derek, his arms wrapped tight around her middle, his expression of pain and confusion, even fear. 

Was this girl attacking the pack? Weren't they saving her? What was going on?

He didn't get a chance to piece together the puzzle that was before him. The girl spread her legs in a sturdy stance, before raking her claws down Derek's thigh. This caused his grip to loosen just the slightest, which gave her the opportunity to turn around a swipe at his face, slashing across his cheek, tearing into the thin flesh like butter. She pulled away from the Alpha to quickly kick out at Peter, sending him a few feet back, then clawing towards Scott who just barely dodged away from her. Without waiting, she pushed through Scott, sending him to fall on the black top as she ran, her feet carrying her down the street. Everyone was too stunned for a moment to move, Derek holding onto his leg with a pained look as he watched the girl run away.

Allison had come up from behind them all, Stiles seeing her for the first time, the first time in all of summer vacation, aiming a small crossbow at the girl's retreating back. She fired, the arrow cutting through the air to embed into the werewolf's leg. Stiles could hear her pained roar, turning to flash her eyes at the pack before speeding away. Stiles nearly missed seeing Derek swipe Allison's arm down, throwing the crossbow away. Growling at her.

"What are you doing," Derek spat.

"Trying to stop her," Allison said quickly. "She is loose now in an unsuspecting town of humans that could find themselves on the receiving end of her rage."

Peter was brushing off his pants, coming up rather calmly. "Something is wrong. She is acting feral. We need to go after her and figure out what is wrong."

"What about Stiles," Scott asked, surprising Stiles and Danny in the deep shadows between two buildings and a dumpster.

"We need to split up. Scott, you and Isaac are coming with me to get Cora," Derek said. So the girl's name is Cora, at least Stiles wouldn't be calling her 'girl' in his head. "Peter, you and Jackson take Erica and Boyd back to the loft. Lydia and Allison can look for Stiles."

Meanwhile, Stiles and Danny were hearing all of this. Stiles was trying to not be shocked and little touched at their worry for him. But he knew better. They weren't going to look for him because they cared. They were going to do it because they thought he was at the mercy of the Alphas. That Stiles couldn't protect himself. Lydia knew the truth, clearly wasn't going to voice it, but Stiles could tell she was worried. He could see her hand itching beside her purse, wanting to pull her phone out and call him. She may not have known about the full plan, but she knew a bit. He will definitely be getting an earful from her later. The rest, however, were in the dark and that was how Stiles wanted them to stay. Maybe to them, he really couldn't protect himself, that he was a fragile, spastic human, with his only defense being his sarcasm and a bat, but that is what made this even better. Oh the irony.  _If only they knew._

Danny was clutching onto Stiles' arm, silently telling him they needed to move. Stiles could feel the unease, the prickling feeling of fear in the back of his mind. The feeling of his wards in his mind, the little tiny beacons, radiating pulsing warmth was not enough to quell the fear and anxiousness. Which why did he feel so uneasy? They were okay, right? They didn't how long until the Alpha's came back. If they heard what was no doubt Cora's roar, then surely the Alpha werewolves did too. Danny seemed to know this already as he kept looking behind them, his eyes darting around, his hand poised of his talisman, ready if needed.

"Once the betas are in the loft, I'm going to look for Stiles too," Peter said to Derek, surprising his nephew and therefore Stiles and Danny as well. When Derek looked at him a little stunned and then like he was going to argue, Peter went on, "we wouldn't have found them otherwise. I'm going to find him. Now go, hurry!"

Without some reluctance, Derek looked at his catatonic betas, before charging after Cora, Scott and Isaac hot on his heels. Stiles was concerned about the other werewolf, not wanting her to hurt anyone. He was torn between going to help Erica and Boyd, wanting to know what was wrong with them, and going to help Derek with the girl. When the three were out of ear shot, the others loaded the betas into the Camaro, Jackson hurrying to climb into his Porsche.

Lydia was not standing by the passenger side door furiously typing away.

"What are you doing," Allison asked, picking up her crossbow.

"I'm texting Stiles. And I'm sending a message to Danny, seeing if he has seen him recently. If I have to I'll get him to hack into the traffic cameras to find his Jeep or anything," Lydia said quickly.

Stiles knew she was speaking the truth. As she spoke, he felt his phone buzz in his back pocket, furiously coming to life at the volume of messages she was sending. Even Danny pulled his phone out to see her messages to him. Hell he even had messages from Scott and Isaac asking about Stiles. They quietly watched as they all got in the two vehicles. Peter with the betas, the other in Jackson Porsche. Then speeding away, heading back towards the loft. Turning around to Danny, he could see the worry on the other boy's features. He could feel his anxiety and his concern, like a coolness over his skin, tinge with a fluttery feeling.

"You are quite popular tonight," Danny said with a wry smile.

Stiles snorted. "Amazing how I have to be in danger for people to give a fuck."

Danny's smile falter a little, but he couldn't say anything against it. Stiles was right, none of them cared unless he was in the thick of something. Or at least when they knew, firsthand, that he was in the danger. Otherwise, they wouldn't have lifted a finger. Except for Lydia no doubt. She was still sending messages, even trying to call him, which Stiles was ignoring. Yup, he was going to pay for that later.

"You're going to go after the Derek, aren't you," Danny said suddenly, causing Stiles to look up. Deciding to not come up with an excuse for otherwise, he nodded.

"Whatever is happening to that girl, he needs help. If I have to, I will help," he said in a low voice.

"Are you prepared for what happens after if you do interfere? For when the pack finds out?"

Stiles shrugged already getting up from the edge of the brick building they were crouching by. "We shall see. Call Lydia before she gets mad at both of us. Tell her you will be helping with the search for me. Take my keys and get back to the house and lock the doors." He finished giving Danny the keys to his Jeep.

"But I already found you," Danny said with a cocky smile.

"Technically I was never missing," Stiles shot back, before turning around to race after where Derek, Scott, and Isaac ran after Cora.

He heard Danny call out behind him, "Be careful," giving Stiles the motivation to not cause anyone else to worry about him. He needed to hurry. He was tired and the Alphas could still be coming back. Not to mention Ethan and Aidan could have gotten word back from their pack about Stiles' little ruse. He didn't want to leave Danny behind, but he trusted that Danny could look out for himself. Stiles felt sure about that, he felt a steady warmth in his mind from that.

_Weird._

Pushing his magic into his legs, feeling it awaken to his silent will, it settled into his legs, heating up his muscles, loosening them up, making him feel relaxed even as he ran. He barely felt the ground beneath his feet as he bounded down the pavement. He was no wolf, he didn't have super senses like an enhance sniffer, but he did have magic. As astounding as it still was for him to realize that everyday, he vowed to never take his magic for granted, not ever.

Thankfully, he needed his magic to track Derek and the others. He couldn't do the tracking spell that he did earlier that day for Erica and Boyd, but he didn't have to. The pack's trail was recent. He just had to enhance that trail somehow. Sending out his magic, it came alive to him, going out of him like a radar. He could feel his the warmth in his chest rise, heating up from a small flame to an inferno, making itself known. It beat in time with his heart, going through his body in waves. Stiles could feel the familiar pleasant burn rising into his neck, running up the tendons to his face, inching closer and closer until it settled in his eyes. He didn't need a mirror to know that his eyes were glowing, alive with his hidden fire.

When his eyes came alive with his magic, he could see ten times better than he could before. The dark fell away, replaced with the warm glow of his magic, illuminating the world. It was like the sun was still setting, still shining on the land, giving it's light onto the world. But it was still different, he could still see shadows and everything seemed to shimmer in his sight. Shimmer and flicker like it was outlined in small flames. He focused his magic on the girl, wanting to find her and hopefully help control the rage she was feeling before she did something she didn't want to do. He focused on her, sending his magic out towards her, trying to find the trail she took.

With his ablaze sight, he looked down to find flickering haze in front of him. It was faint, but it lead off to the side, near the woods. Of course, it went into the Preserve. Trusting his magic, he followed the smoky trail, going around a couple buildings and around a house to enter the woods. Following the trail, he pushed himself harder, hoping to catch up. Around trees and over rocks and a small creek his went until he heard a roar. He stopped, seeing a flicker of light ahead of him. Running closer he saw it was a campfire, with a tent nearby, and two women. One was on the ground, scrambling backwards as the other was standing nearly over her, arms and hands outstretched. It was Cora, poised and on the verge to strike. Stiles could hear her growling and was about to move when he saw another flicker out of the corner of his brightened vision. 

He watched in fascination as Isaac came out of the thicket, barreling into Cora, sending her away. Scott was behind him, staying near the woman, standing over her protectively. Stiles saw Derek come up behind them, aiming for his sister. She swiped at him from the ground, catching his legs and making him crash to the ground. Cora lunged at Derek, nearly climbing on top of him to claw at his face. Isaac was there before she did anymore damage. Shoving her off, both of them snarling and rolling on the ground, trying to find purchase. Cora seemed to brace herself on the ground, before, pulling Isaac towards her causing him to momentarily lose grounding, surprised by her actions, only for her to push him off suddenly and then in a quick flash, roll up to her feet to kick him away and into a tree.

Without much more thought, she ran off again, heading in a different direction, going southwest, towards the school. Stiles saw the trickling smoke of her trail, his magic actively telling him where she was going. Derek was already running after her, stopping once to make sure Isaac was okay. Scott stayed with Isaac and the woman who was on the verge of tears, shaking on the ground. Stiles felt for her, he really did, but he had seen much worse.

This had to stop so he went after the girl, following the Alpha through the woods, but maintaining a safe distance so he wouldn't be found out. Stiles couldn't think about the woman and worrying about her seeing Cora and Isaac shifted and all supernaturaly, he would deal with that later if needed. For now, he had to help Derek. Cora was heading towards the school, and as much as he wanted to point her towards Mr. Harris' classroom and let her have her way with any piece of equipment or furniture, he knew that she needed to be put under control until whatever this was, ended.

His magic carried his legs deeper and deeper into the forest and he was still keeping an eye out for the other Alphas. Thankfully the school came into view before any of them could. He lost track of Derek at some point, only following the trail that his magic was picking up from her. It brought the saying, "left in the dust" to mind and Stiles chuckled to himself. It really was what it looked like. Floating, hazy, golden dust trail.

He found himself rounding to the south north entrance, the one that entered into the gym. He noticed the doors were broken, glass and woods on the floor as he stepped inside, quickly following her path. What he didn't expect was to see her standing in the dark gymnasium, looking around like someone who didn't know where she was and was afraid something was hovering in the rafters, waiting to jump out at her. He approached her slowly, still not knowing where Derek was, but needing to do this quickly. 

"Cora," he said softly, gently as if he didn't want to spook her.

She turned around and growled at him. Her eyes flashing brighter, her teeth menacing even to his enhanced eyes. He didn't quite know what appearance he made to her, but he had no doubt she could see his eyes were glowing as well. She tilted her head as he took a step closer, confused as she stared at him. Maybe she was wondering what he was? Obviously not a wolf.

"It's okay," he said in low voice. "I'm not hear to hurt you. I just want to help."

Apparently, she refused help with a resounding roar. She charged at him, her claws out and aiming for his throat. He side-stepped her, using his magic to help push him away faster. She swiped at him, trying to grab at him, snapping her teeth. Stiles muttered, a spell, pushing her away from him. At her constant failures to grab hold of him, or even land a clawed hand on him, she roared. Furiosity shining more brightly in her yellow eyes. When she ducked low, going to her knees, shoving her claws out and up towards his gut, he used his magic to shield himself from her attack. He narrowly got away from her teeth as she tried to bite him at the same time. Stiles acted on instinct, trying to get himself away from immediate danger, throwing his magic at her, lifting her up and into the air. Stiles watched as she went through the doors, shattering the wood into pieces. She growled and whined at the same time, looking slightly dazed, but upon Stiles' approach, she scrambled to her feet to run, using her enhanced speed to flee down the hall before Stiles was able to get through the door.

He needed a plan. He didn't want to hurt her. He wanted to help. Stiles was so confused about what was going on. What made her act like this? He thought she would be happy, ecstatic to be free from the Alphas, but not go into a fit of rage. She is not even enraged at the Alphas, not even going after them. She is almost...rabid. Like anything she can tear into is what will satisfy her.

Maybe he needed a distraction. Something for her to focus on, so that he could restrain her. Stiles ran down the hall, trying to find her. Turning left and right, he passed rooms, but the trail never went into any of them. It went into the stairwell, leading downward. She was fast, really fast when she wanted to be. Apparently she wanted to get away from him. Or maybe something else was drawing her. Stiles didn't know. 

He got his answer when he heard a roar rumble through the stairs. It wasn't Cora's. It was one he was familiar with. One that was deep and primal. Derek.

Stiles skipped stairs, three at a time as he followed the glowing trail, further into the school's underbelly. He knew he was heading to the basement before he reached the door. The basement was where the boiler rooms, extra storage rooms, and heating and cooling units were. The closer he got, the more growls and snarls, he heard. The more grunts that echoed out to him. The more he felt his magic flicker and pulse in his body at the sounds. Stiles still pressed on, prepared for if Derek noticed him being down there. He would make up an excuse. He always does.

Coming upon a room with the boilers, the animal sound were much louder here and he could see Cora, but the true image he saw, he was not prepared for. Stiles felt his stomach lurch and his heart contract. He didn’t know what to do. He had to think fast. Seeing Derek standing there his back to a closed door, holding back this Cora girl, being mauled piece by piece, blood dripping over his body, staining his clothes. Stiles watched Derek grit his teeth, grunting in pain as she tore into his flesh, blood splattering to the ground and walls near them. Still Derek held her back, holding himself against the door, his hands braced on her shoulders as she ravaged him like a true feral wolf. With each new cut, each new wound, her eyes shone brighter, her snarls turning to roars. It was like she was trying to tear Derek down, either to get away or to get through him. Stiles wasn't sure, he didn't care, all he saw was the gruesome sight.

He was standing a good ways down the narrow hall, watching with his magically enhanced sight. As amazing as his sight was right now, this was something he didn't want to see. He didn't want to watch this anymore. It made him sick, angry, and fearful. He owed Derek nothing, but this, he couldn't let him do. Derek wasn't even fighting. He wasn't pushing her away from him, just holding her in the same spot. Taking all her blows, like a human shaped pin cushion. 

Stiles ducked low behind a nearby rusted boiler, muttering under his breath to hide his scent and his heartbeat. If he was going to act, he needed to do it now. He asked for a distraction, well, here it was. Even though he never asked for this. Working quickly, he waved his hand before him, creating a quick series of movements with his wrist and fingers, before quietly saying the spell he needed to ensure all of this would cease. With a final flick of his wrist towards the two werewolves, saying the last word of the spell, which was actually a name, Cora, he watched as the girl took one more swipe down over Derek's collar bone, then went completely still before dropping to the concrete, unconscious.

Stiles saw her petite form drop like a weight and Derek was there, staring as standing there with wide eyes. It took him a moment to move, kneeling down to check on the girl, turning his head slightly to hear her heartbeat. He could see the surprise on his face, the concern-which was weird. Derek never shows open concern for someone, especially not a stranger.

Stiles watched as Derek sat back on his heels, before sitting down on the floor, extending his legs just slightly, a grimace on his face. He was bleeding still, and his shirt was torn, bloody, and his face was just starting to heal from the cuts. Stiles wanted to go help, despite his better judgement to think otherwise, he wanted to offer some support. Seeing Derek look so worn out, so...well so human in this way, it almost made him temporarily forget that Derek wanted nothing to do with him. Almost.

He watched as Derek pulled his phone from his back pocket, wincing as he did. Making a quick call. 

"It's me," he said into the speaker. Stiles didn't know who he was talking to, but he figured it was someone in the pack. "Yeah. I found her." Derek rubbed his hand over his face, wiping off the blood and smearing it on his shirt. "We are at the school, in the basement, by the boilers...I don't know, she just stopped. She fell unconscious...okay, hurry."

Derek hung up and then rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes. Stiles needed to leave. Before any of the pack came and saw him or smelt him or something. He may be hiding his scent now, but he was running low of energy now. He needed to get out of here and then pass out in bed. But he needed to help Erica and Boyd first. He needed to see if they were okay. Them being like that, so statuesque, it made him worry. Stiles was pulled out his head when he saw Derek pull himself to his feet, taking deep breaths. He was healing quickly, in next few moments, he would be completely healed. Even his face was looking better. The blood and ripped clothes couldn't be helped so easily though. 

Stiles watched as Derek turned towards the door he had been leaning by, before slowly reaching out and opening it, stepping inside. Stiles was caught off guard by that. What was Derek doing? Was there something in there? Did he hear something? Stiles was curious and often times, his curiosity would cause him to be nosy. He really wanted to creep closer. The sudden buzz from his phone, made him think otherwise. He was getting a call. If he took it in hear, Derek would surely hear him. Then questions would be asked and Stiles didn't want to answer those, he didn't have a story planned yet.

Reluctantly, he turned away, inching as quietly as he could back the way he came. Heading back towards the stairs and carefully making his way back up the flights to the ground floor of the school. The lights were all off. It reminded Stiles of the first time he and Scott were here at night. Back when Scott was newly turned and they were running from a psychotic, murderous Alpha Peter. Stiles thought the school was creepy and too quiet then, now it wasn't much different. This time though, he had more than just his bat and his wits about him to protect himself with. He still used his glowing eyes to guide him through the halls, making sure he didn't run into anything. He was also listening for any of the pack to show up, just in case he had to duck into a nearby classroom. When he got to the front doors, he quickly pushed out into the night air, heading off to the side of the parking lot. He looked back to make sure Derek or anyone else wasn't following him, then pulled out his phone to look to see who had called, before he heard his name being called in front of him.

"Stiles?"

Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin, almost dropping his phone. His felt his eyes go wide as he saw who was in front of him.

"Peter."

The former Alpha and older Hale werewolf was looking at him with a mixture of awe and surprise. His own eyes mirroring Stiles as they stared wide at his face. Peter's own eyes shifting to the bright blue as he stared. Stiles didn't realize it until too late. Aside from his fast beating heart drawn from Peter surprising him, his worry of what excuse to come up with at being at the school, to wondering why Peter was here, he realized what he was still feeling. The familiar warmth inside him, encasing his skin in a protective shell underneath, radiating in a continuous flame, stretching all the way to burn in his irises. His eyes were still glowing, showing Peter in the same flickering sunset light he had forgotten about. He could feel them burn with his magic, swirling and shining, all for Peter to see with his own two, wolf eyes.

Well fuck!

"I can explain," Stiles said quickly, letting his eyes fade back to normal, and his magic settle back inside him into a smaller flame.

Peter was still staring, awestruck, before composing himself just a little, the oceanic blue of his eyes disappearing as he crossed his arm over his broad chest, giving Stiles his complete attention. "I am all ears."

  *** * * * * * ***

When Derek saw her, hunching over her knees gripping them tightly, he honestly felt bad for her. He saw the silent tears in her eyes and the shocked expression on her face. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by the look of fear and uncertainty the woman crouching behind some shelves was showing him. He was covered in blood so he fit the part for a horror movie. Except this was the real deal. Strange that Beacon Hills always made Hollywood look fake.

After he heard her, running away from his sister and then being trapped in the basement as she nearly started to panic as Cora growled, he moved without much conscious thought. Derek had pushed her into the storage closet, hoping to keep her away from his sister as well as away from the impending fight. He had followed his sister as seeing her run down the halls from the north end of the school. He came in from the west of the Preserve, leaving Isaac and Scott behind in favor of stopping his sister on her rampage. He knew she saw what his sister was, not to mention himself with his red eyes, but he didn't have time to think about it now. He had to stop his sister. This woman was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But he wasn't about to let her get hurt because of his sister. Cora would feel guilty from ever hurting someone, she and Derek were the same with that.

But then how much does he know about his long lost sister after six years of thinking her dead. 

He didn't want to hurt Cora. That would gut him even more. After just finding out she is alive, after just being able to hear her voice again, smell her familiar scent, feel her warm and alive in his arms, he didn't want to harm her in any way. He couldn't bring himself to raise a hand to her. Derek had no idea what was happening, but his priority was to hold his sister at bay, maybe, just maybe, help would come. So he did the only thing he could, in order to protect the woman and his sister. He braced himself against the door and Cora's assault. He took it all, every bit of sharp claws, every punch, every slash that ran deep into muscle tissue. 

It hurt, God it hurt, but he kept holding on. He was the Alpha and he could take it. He had to take it. Besides, nothing could hurt worse than having nearly your entire family die and know the reason was because of you. That cut deeper than any claws, blades, teeth every could. So he endured it all.

The sudden cease of her onslaught was both a blessing and a concern. When Cora dropped to the ground, he nearly had a heart attack, fearing the worst. With his heart in his throat and his breathing stopped, he had to remind himself to breathe when he heard the unmistakable sound of her heartbeat. He didn't know what caused her to faint, but he was grateful for it. He called Peter to come and help him take Cora home, knowing his uncle was probably out looking for Stiles. Yet another problem Derek needed to see to.

God that boy was going to get himself killed? What happened to staying out of it? What happened to wanting nothing to do with the Alpha pack? Derek had many question for Stiles. Like how he found out his betas were with the Alphas for one. He wanted to know how Stiles found them, when they had been looking for months. How the pack, a couple of werewolves couldn't find them, but Stiles, a human boy, smart and resourceful, was able to uncover what was hidden to them. Derek didn't know how to sort out the conflicting feelings over the boy and his actions, but he still needed to find him.

He inched closer to the woman like she was a scared or injured animal. He scented the air, making sure wasn’t hurt. He smelled his own blood, sweat and yes fear in the close quarter room, but under that...it was something else. Something bitter and rotten. It made his nose scrunch. When he turned to see if he could find the source of it, he heard the woman gasp at his quick movement. Turning back to her, seeing her wide doe-like eyes, her trembling lip, it made him stop. He felt something, inside his chest, like a tugging on him. He needed to get back to the others. Erica and Boyd were found, he needed to help them. He sister, his thought dead sister, was alive and breathing. He had to make sure she was okay, he was waiting for Peter to show up. He had to make sure it was out of her system and she didn’t suffer any more adverse effects. And Stiles...he had to find Stiles.

His wolf was growling in his chest and he couldn’t understand why, pawing at his insides, trying to get him to listen. It was silent just a few seconds ago. Prior to that it was whining, howling like it was trying to get his sister's attention. Trying to make her stop. Now when he thought of the others, his wolf whines but still bares it’s teeth. The whole time Derek didn’t take his eyes off the woman before him. He needed to get back, but he couldn’t leave this woman alone and obviously scared. Her eyes were wide and glistening, pleading.

Derek reached out tentatively, holding his hand out to the shaken brunette. At the motion his wolf growled harshly in his chest, but Derek wasn’t sure if he felt it right. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the churn in his stomach, but even then he still waited for her to make a move.

The woman looked at his hand with uncertainty before looking back at him. Whatever she saw in Derek seemed to encourage her to reach out to him. Derek was not entirely aware. A part of him was telling him to leave, his wolf reinforcing that thought, snarling inside, hunching in a crouch. What was he leaving for? What did he need to do? 

A howl from outside, sounding almost a mile away, faint but still enough for him to recognize it, nearly startled him. No, something isn’t right. Erica...Boyd...Stiles. 

When her hand touched his, her fingers closed around his, Derek’s feelings of wrongness disappeared. The thought of finding Stiles and the others became clouded. She gave a small, shy and still uncertain smile, and it became the only thing he could see. She was beautiful, that much he could tell. Long brown hair, soft features, and pink lips. Her skin was flawless and olive in tone. She had a touch of elegance to her features, even timidness. Yeah, she was beautiful. His wolf howled inside him, snarling and clawing at him, before ultimately silencing in a long whine. 

Derek helped her stand up again, her balance a little unsteady but enough for her to remain upright. She kept Looking at him, Derek could smell nerves radiating from her. Derek kept his eyes on her face, unable to look away. _Did...did he want to look away? What was he doing before?_

 


	22. Venomous Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter. Another one in the works. Shit is about to go down! Whoo!

Stiles couldn't get his mouth to work. He said he would explain and yet, he had nothing falling from his lips. No words, no explanation, no lie to cover up what Peter saw. The man was standing there before him, looking at him expectantly, as silent as ever. The stretch going on for who knows how long, when in actuality it was barely a few minutes. Peter continued to stare at him, his face a blank, his eyes bright with awe, yet still questioning. It threw Stiles through a loop really.

Finally when it seemed like Stiles was going to have to break the silence, Peter spoke. "You have magic."

Not trusting his voice, Stiles just nodded. Looking away from Peter, down to the ground, hoping that it would somehow save him from this conversation. But then he heard the tone of Peter's voice. It wasn't of surprise like he thought it would be. It wasn't even a question. It was a full statement, an observation that Peter seemed to accept fully.

Upon looking back at his face, the older man arched an eyebrow at him, as if waiting for him. "You knew."

Peter gave his trademark smirk. "Not fully, but I...suspected."

"How," Stiles asked, feeling slightly relieved he didn't have to explain everything, but apprehensive that Peter knew about his magic, and for who knows how long. So many questions were flickering through his head. Above all, why has Peter not said anything before, especially to the pack, or Derek?

"I figured you would share it when you were ready. This just happens to be an unfortunate occurrence," Peter said with a shrug, folding his arms over his chest.

Stiles was trying to think of all the times he used his magic. He was trying to think of all his interaction with Peter, wondering when he ever gave Peter the idea that he had magic. Stiles had been careful. He thought he had been anyway. There was nothing he could think of that proved Peter was present during any of his magic practices, his talks with Danny, his time with his dad or Deaton or-

“You were there that night. Outside my house, after I...,” Stiles stopped himself. He nearly said after he woke up from his Astral coma, but he thankfully held his tongue. That was more than he needed to say right now. “After I found out about my dad knowing.” It wasn't the whole truth, but still partly. It was the lesser evil path. 

Peter simply nodded. “I heard a few things, but I didn’t stay long.”

"Why were you there at all,” he asked a little defensively.

”I was out on patrol, on my way back, but thought I’d look in on you. I hadn’t heard much of you, so I was a bit curious.”

”Am I to suddenly believe that you grew a conscious and were concerned about my well being or even about anything in general,” Stiles asked in an attempt to hide his surprise and stir it to weariness. Why shouldn’t he be concerned, this was Peter right?

Peter snorted, “I have been known to have human traits myself. Odd isn’t it? But I was curious.”

”And?”

”And I stand by what I suspected long ago,” Peter said, taking a small step forward with a tilt of his lips upward. “You are full of surprises.”

Stiles was too stunned to say anything more. He supposed Peter could be lying, trying to get him to lower any guard he had, but the man wasn’t acting like how Stiles was used to. Granted the most he interacted with the man was when he was crazy and murderous, power hungry, but this Peter, was he the same? There last conversation flooded through his mind, Peter walking him home, telling him thank you for his help. The man said he was sorry for Derek’s behavior. Said he didn’t like the other man’s decision. It was a twist of the man Stiles initially saw Peter as. But then, he has missed a lot with the pack and that was partly his own doing.

“That being said,” Peter said his lips turning into a frown. “What are you doing Stiles? Do you have any idea the dangerous game you are playing.”

"I am not playing a game," he said affronted.

Peter cocked an eyebrow. "Aren't you?" 

"What," Stiles said getting annoyed. "No, I'm not."

Peter shook his head slowly, "Your smarter than that Stiles." He said with coming closer to be barely a two feet from him. Stiles could feel the warmth of his body. Stupid werewolves. "Your smarter than this. Your choices of late have been rather lamentable."

"Like what," Stiles said in higher voice showing his offense. "What did I do lately that was disappointing? Other than find Erica and Boyd, what had I done other than help all of you against my better judgement to move on and leave you all to your own devices?"

Peter rolled his eyes with impatience. "You are acting like a child throwing a tantrum."

"Oh, Fuck you!"

He moved to walk past Peter. He was not in the mood to get ridiculed. Obviously putting his life on the line didn't discern a thank you. He should be expecting it from everyone by now. Peter held out a hand, stopping Stiles from going around him. His mouth in a grim line, his eyes sparkling even in the moon light.

"You want the truth Stiles, I’m rather disappointed in you. Yes you helped find and therefore save Erica and Boyd, but also through a cost."

"I'm fine. I don't even have a scratch on me."

Peter gave him a once over look before nodding. "While I am pleased to see that, I don’t mean you. While I now know of your magic, and that you can take care of yourself, it doesn’t excuse the fact that you put yourself in jeopardy in order to prove yourself. Not to mention you also put the pack at risk."

"I wasn't proving myself," Stiles said with a sneer, moving further away from Peter to walk around him down the sidewalk.

"Despite what you claim, it is true," Peter drawls behind him. "Your rashness has now put you in a tight spot. The Alphas are who knows where, no doubt looking for you or on their way back wondering where their prisoners are. The pack is split up, we have two betas down, while Derek went after Cora, and the others are out looking for you. What is to stop the Alphas from taking us out one by one now that we have less protection in numbers? Also what is to stop them from coming after you now that you got their attention? Or even the pack if they think you are part of it?"

"I'm not, remember. I’m not pack," Stiles said with a look over his shoulder as Peter continues to follow him down the the sidewalk. "Also they are already coming after the pack. They wouldn't be here otherwise."

"That is not the point. The point is that they do not care who is pack or not. Right now you have made yourself a target and you have given them a opportunities they didn’t have before."

Stiles looked incredulously at Peter, turning around at him. "Right like when they could have killed all of you back in that clearing during their last attack. They could have but didn’t. They are toying with you, which means they are not interested in killing you."

Peter shook his head with a shrug. "No they aren’t. They want Derek and they will do whatever it takes to get him, that includes eliminating his pack, or taking prisoners if it means he will submit and join them. Which I have no doubt now that Erica and Boyd were part of their original plan. They had an opportunity with them and they took it then."

Stiles knew Peter was right. The more Peter talked the more he realized he had made an error in his drive to save the betas. He doesn't regret finding them. He doesn't regret sending the Alphas on a wild goose chase with his doppelganger spell, but he does regret what it could mean. He has now made himself a target. He didn't really think his plan through completely. He wasn't worried about himself, now that he thought about it, he wasn't the only one in danger. What if the Alphas went after his dad or Danny? What if they actively attacked him at school or at home, putting others at risk. They know he has magic, but they don't know who or what he is. In trying to do the right thing, he has caused more problems for himself and the pack.

Great! Obviously the universe was out to get him. As if he didn't have enough problems.

"This has to stop, Stiles." Peter said bringing his attention back to the man. "I know that after what happened, you want to remain indifferent towards the pack, but you are not irresponsible. You are not careless when it is people who can get hurt."

Stiles shook his head, folding his arms and clenching his hands into his skin. "It's not that I don’t care. I do, I always have. And I know I probably shouldn’t. What has the pack done for me? What have any of them done for me, but hurt me in one way or another? Tell me how I am supposed to help people who think so little of me?

"So you turn away from them instead of trying to make the amends you wish for? Your avoidance of problems rivals my dear nephews. You are not one to be petty Stiles."

He could feel the prickle of warmth behind his eyes and he was trying to swallow them down. Stiles refused to get emotional over this. There was nothing to get emotional about. "So I’m the _selfish_ one. I am selfish at wanting someone else to admit that they were wrong, that they never really gave me a chance. Yes I am selfish. But don’t you dare say I don’t care. It is because I care that I have not left this Hellmouth of a town yet with my dad in tow. It is because I care that this town is warded with my magic. It is because I care that I have had to shield off multiple creatures over the summer from reaching the borders. It is because I care I have thrown myself into books and research to understand _what I am_ , and what it is I can do so that I am not just a human shield or dead weight, the weak link for the people I care about."

Peter inclined his head in a gesture of consideration. "You...so you have been...well I guess that explains why no one has seen much of you over the summer. I didn’t-"

"No one knew," Stiles said over him. "Other than dad and Danny."

"I never thought you saw so little in yourself," Peter whispered, but Stiles heard enough. Before he could respond, the man humored out, "I would hope that you can use your magic to knock some sense into Derek."

Stiles chuckled despite himself. "Would it help?"

Peter took a moment to reply. Seeming to choose his words carefully. "Maybe you can start...by taking the first step to recovery. Talk to them."

Stiles rolled his eyes, knowing what Peter was implying. "By them you mean Derek."

"Is he not the sole one you are avoiding?"

Stiles didn't justify that with a yes or no. To be honest, Derek wasn't the only one, but Peter knew that, right? "He has made it clear on what he thinks of me. I tried to explain, I tried to help him believe differently but he doesn’t want to. You heard what he said that night, Peter. He doesn’t trust me. How could he? I betrayed him."

"Derek may have his issues," Peter said softly. "However they are not irreversible and you are did not betray him."

Stiles shook his head. Maybe it was his stubbornness showing, but he couldn't let himself believe in Peter's words that Derek would listen to him. The man barely listened to him when they were on good terms. The last time Derek actually listened to him was when Stiles told him to leave him alone, to go away when he visited his house at the beginning of summer. That was one of the few times Derek ever followed Stiles' wishes. He wasn't going to hold his breath for Derek to believe him now. "And yet you are not sure. You believe me based on what? My firm position on the matter? My character? My heartbeat that night?"

"All of the above, yes," Peter said surprising him. Peter's eyes never left his, standing there firm, as Stiles kept squeezing and un-squeezing his arms, trying to rid himself of the nerves and anxiousness. "It was all of it. I may not know the real reason and I will not ask. But my God will you stop acting like a child and talk to him. You are better than this and I frankly am not interested in more teenage drama to sit through."

Stiles couldn't do this now. His head was hurting, a pressure behind his eyes and he was looking forward to dropping onto his bed more and more. He needed to focus on one thing at a time. He needed to get out of here before Derek came out of the school too. Speaking of which, "The others come first. Erica and Boyd are...whatever you want to call it and I need to see what can be done to help them. Derek is inside the school with Cora. I spelled her into unconsciousness for a few hours, she should be fine, but I need to call Deaton, he may know of how to help them all."

Peter gave a long sigh, obviously not happy about Stiles pushing the problem of him and Derek to the side, but he relented and nodded.

"Bring him to the loft, it’ll be easier to explain to everyone there. I’ll let the others know you are safe and to stop looking,” he said the last bit with a pointed look which Stiles tried to ignore, even as his stomach dropped a little.

"Do you think Hale will want Deaton around, after the whole...you know?”

"If he wants his betas back to normal then he doesn’t have much choice. I do not trust the man myself, but I won’t deny he has knowledge, which is something we need at the moment," Peter says, beginning to turn around to go back to the school.

"Fine. I’ll call him and get him to meet you at the loft.”

"You going too.”

"What,” Stiles asked with his raised eyebrows.

”You are and if I have to drag you there I will. Your avoidance of your problems will not help tonight and after everyone has been looking for you, your attendance is rather required after your stunt.”

“I-God fine! I’ll meet you there.” 

With that Peter walked away, a smirk playing at his lips, but an edge to his eyes that reminded Stiles of his dad. It was the look that said you better or there will be consequences. Stiles had the thought of Peter standing before him, a disappointed look on his face, saying he was grounded. It nearly made Stiles laugh with the ridiculousness that it was. Peter, grounding him, or even being a parent was ludicrous. Of course that thought made him realize that Peter in fact was a parent, once. He was married and a new father before the fire. Peter once had a family of his own, one that was just starting out. Peter was a dad-

No, no he wasn't going to go there. Those were depressing and otherworldly thoughts and he didn't have time for that. When Peter was gone, Stiles pulled out his phone. He sent a message to Danny, telling him what happened. When Danny asked if he should be at the loft with him, Stiles rejected it. The pack didn't need anymore surprises tonight. Plus Stiles knew that Danny needed to talk to Jackson first, before telling the rest of the pack about him. Stiles still wasn't even sure if Danny really wanted to tell his secret to Jackson, because he was still upset with Jackson for dismissing him while he was the Kanima and then full on ignoring him after his break up with Lydia, then coming back like nothing happened.

Reminded Stiles about Scott in some ways and yet both he and Jackson would claim they were nothing alike. 

After telling Danny he would meet him at his house later, he called Deaton. He had the feeling that the man was waiting for his call because he picked up after the first ring.

"Hello," he said down the line.

"Deaton, it's Stiles. I'm on my way to you. There's some things you need to know."

Without waiting for much of a confirmation, which he took as silence from the man on the other end, he launched into the night's events.

*** * * * * * ***

Derek found the woman's hand to be warm and soft. When he pulled her up, her movement sent the smell of her perfume towards him. It wasn't harsh or alcoholic, nor was it strong with artificial chemicals. It was sweet and earthy, like lilies mixed with apples. It made him want to breathe deeper. Her eyes were bright and kept moving from his face to the floor and back again. She was biting her bottom lip, making it plump and pinker in color. He could still smell the anxiety and nervousness, with a hint of fear, underneath the perfume, but there was curiosity and relief in it as well. Derek found a small part of himself relax, his hand still in hers as they stood together. Despite the state of his attire and look, dirty and bloody, she didn't seem completely terrified about it.

Derek could feel the itch in his mind, where his wolf had been pawing at him, whining, before ultimately silencing. It should make him question it, make him wonder and even worry, but he didn't feel that. Derek couldn't even put into words what he felt, let alone think. It was like he was staring at the world through a surface of water. Images playing out, but then not knowing if it was real or a ripple on the surface. He felt a pull around his chest, a pull towards this woman, who was slowly releasing her grip around his hand.

It wasn’t until he heard a distant clanging sound and a voice echo out his name, that veil seemed to break, his mind flooding back to him, realizing where he was and what he was doing. It caused him to go rigid. He blinked, now able to look away from the woman, before he let go of her hand. He stepped back, inching towards the door. 

“Um...you should be safe now. Go home,” he said rather bluntly, his voice sounding diffident to his own ears. 

Without much thought he backed out of the closet further, seeing her fear but tinged with determination. He turned around and ran out, picking Cora up off the floor and cradling her as he briskly walked down the narrow hallway towards the stairs. Upon reaching the ground floor, he nearly ran into Peter, who opened the door for him on his way tracking his nephew's scent. Seeing his niece out cold, made him hold his tongue enough for him to let Derek pass and they both headed towards the exit.

"You look like shit," Peter said with minor amusement.

"We need to get her home," Derek says, ignoring the jab. "She passed out suddenly. We need to get her someplace safe before we do anything else."

"I found Stiles by the way," Peter said in seemingly good spirits as he held the front door open and they stepped out onto the school steps. That surprised Derek enough to make him stop to look at his uncle. He had almost forgotten about Stiles in the past few moments, now it all coming back to him about the danger he was in, all because through the boy's own doing, but still. Derek felt a little guilty for temporarily forgetting about Stiles, but his mind was still a little fuzzy from being back in that closet. Back with that woman. Her face still floating through his mind. Who was she? What was he going to do about her now?

"He's fine," Peter grumbles out when Derek didn't say anything. That made Derek feel even worse. Where was his head at tonight? "He wasn't hurt and he managed to get away from the Alphas before any harm could be done."

"He...he escaped them. He actually was able to get away from them," Derek found himself asking. It didn't make sense. How could skinny, defenseless, smart-mouthed Stiles give three Alpha werewolves the slip? It would be funny if it wasn't a depressingly dangerous and terrible thought. Sure Stiles was resourceful, but what could he have done that allowed him to escape their clutches?

they both piled into the Camaro that Peter brought over, laying Cora down gently in the back seat. On the drive to the loft, Peter informed him that Stiles was over a Deaton's, that he would be bringing the former Emissary to the loft to have a look at Cora and Erica and Boyd. Derek growled at that, angry that the vet dared to come by after what he helped Scott and Stiles do, annoyed that no one bothered to ask the _Alpha_ about his home being invaded by others that were not pack, and resigned that maybe some help could be given. He was in a tight spot between his emotions and his instincts, but he couldn't deny that he had no answers to the nights events. He knew he needed help, but he didn't like the limited sources of that help.

He wasn’t aware that he was back at the loft before Peter had already turned off the engine, opening his door. Derek got out, feeling stiff and still healing from the many scratches and tears into his body from Cora. He was no longer bleeding, but he was going to feel some residual pain for a couple hours. Her claws did go deep after all. He picked Cora up, holding her gently as they went inside. They took the lift up and soon Derek was able to hear the voices coming from his floor. The closer they got, the more individual the voices became.

When they got to his door and Peter slid it open, he was greeted by his pack, Scott and Allison. Ignoring that for now, he moved into the room to go lay Cora on the couch. He noticed Erica and Boyd were in the middle of the room, seated in chairs, both as statuesque as before. It made his insides twist and his brow crease with even more worry. Yeah, he had no idea on what to do. He was happy, relieved, and all around thrilled to have his betas back, and momentarily safe behind the loft walls, but he was extremely out of his depth when it came to making sure they were 'okay and normal'. The way they looked now, was definitely not normal.

"What happened to you," Isaac asked beside him looking at him with wide eyes.

Lydia had come up to put a pillow behind Cora's head, giving her some elevation, then wiped off some blood from her face and hands with a towel she had pulled from most likely the kitchen. Derek was grateful for that, because right now, he was too jumble brained that his wolf was pacing and whining from all the chaos.

"Is she okay," Lydia asked as she cleaned off his sister's hands.

"I don't know," Derek muttered, more to himself than the others. "Deaton will be coming soon."

He expected the pack to start talking at once, but when no one did, he supposed it was because they had the same hopes he did. Even though he didn't like it, he was really hoping Deaton could help. He wiped his hands down his face, smearing a little of his blood left over, before ultimately wiping it away with his sleeve. 

"Stiles texted me a little while ago. He said he was fine and was on his way," Lydia announced, her face a little pinched.

"He texted you back," Scott said from near one of the pillars. He was looking at his phone, his mouth in a frown. "He didn't text me."

Lydia scowled and was opening her lips to say something when all the wolves stilled, turning their heads towards the door. Even Allison and Lydia noticed the tense quiet and were looking. Allison edged her hand under her jacket, while Lydia squared her shoulder as she remained seated beside Cora. Derek could hear the lift rising, voices that were too low for him to make out until the metallic rise of the gate was opened and footsteps were coming towards his door. He felt his body relax just a little as a familiar scent hit his nose. When his door clanged open, the form of Stiles striding through, looking exactly as Peter said-completely fine-came inside, his face set in a neutral expression with Deaton right behind him, carrying a large bag of no doubt his veterinarian supplies, along with some choice supernatural things in it.

"Stiles!"

Scott exclaimed from the pillar with a dopey smile of happiness and relief. Lydia got up from the floor quicker than anyone thought possible-seriously the girl was in heals-bounding halfway across the room and barreling into Stiles, who caught her easily as she hugged him tight, while also slapping his back. Derek couldn't quite see the boy's face behind the mass of red curls, but he could hear him mutter a reassurance to her. He also heard a stream of curses that surprised him and every other wolf who was listening, muffled against his shoulder.

Derek had to admit that seeing Stiles, unharmed and walking, was a sight that made a weight lift from him. He would never wish Stiles any suffering or harm like what he feared the Alphas would do. So it was a breath of fresh air to see he was okay. Of course that didn't erase the knot in his stomach at seeing the boy again.

"Don't you ever do that again, is that clear," Lydia said to Stiles who gave her a lopsided smile. "We are so talking about this later?"

"Yes ma'am," Stiles said with a southern drawl. While it was sarcasm, his eyes were warm, something that the others didn't fail to notice. Jackson growled a little at the easy affection between the two teens. It was a bit of a surprise. Derek had never seen the two hang out much and while he knew they were on good terms, he didn't think it was...friendship, or at least not the easy one he was seeing. Deaton was still standing behind them with cool eyes. It made Derek fluster a bit at seeing the man, bringing up the whole reason why he was here and then some unwanted memories for the given moment.

"Dude where have you-" Scott was heading over to the pair, his arms outstretched.

"Do you have any idea how stupid you were to go out there like that? Have you no sense? Are you trying to get yourself killed!?" Derek nearly shouted, coming up to Stiles, about ready to grasp his shirt. He was fighting the urge to shake the kid. Stiles had release Lydia, pushing her a little to the side and she went willingly, stepping back with raised eyebrows. Scott stopped in his tracks, watching with newfound interest. However, when Derek got close, Stiles didn't seem to react. Derek could hear his heartbeat, but it didn't falter, or stutter, it didn't even speed up like it he was used to hearing. There was nothing, just a steady rhythm. 

Stiles' face was the only thing to change. It went from easy calm, to a hard one. Almost looking detached, expressionless and completely unlike what he was used to seeing on Stiles. It nearly made Derek back up and do a double take. "It would certainly ease your troubles, wouldn't it," he said quietly, emotionless.

"That was not funny, Stiles," Scott said just behind Derek. "What were you thinking? They could have killed you. You got lucky tonight, very lucky."

Derek heard Deaton give a small cough, to clear his throat, but the man didn't say anything. He just stood there patiently, watching the exchange with a calm look. It was almost eerie seeing the emotionless face of his families former emissary. It was eerie seeing the same face on Stiles.

"Maybe," Stiles somewhat agreed, but his eyes flicked over Derek's shoulder, "I just wanted to find them. I wanted them to be okay."

Derek didn't have anything to say on that. Stiles was now looking behind him, at the two motionless betas. His face was unreadable. The whiskey colored eyes, usually so expressive, was now flickering through of emotions that Derek was unable to pinpoint. Derek wasn't sure, but he thought he say those whiskey eyes turn brighter, almost amber, but he must have been mistaken. It saw Lydia rub Stiles' back, either comforting him or coaxing him to return to the here and now and not get lost in his mind. Derek could see the evident care in Stiles, he could always see it. He heard no lie in his words, never a tremor in his voice, but he could hear emotion. It was an emotion that he couldn't identify, but it was enough to make Derek wonder. Stiles never alleged to being close to either Erica or Boyd before, but maybe he missed something. Derek had never been observant of it before, or in general, if he was maybe he wouldn't have been blindsided by Scott and Stiles, but then maybe he didn't care to see it then.

His main concern was teaching his betas. Teaching them that life was unkind, how to protect themselves, how to survive against threats. Control their shifts, their senses, find an anchor. His anchor was his anger, something he relied on for a long time now. It wasn’t a powerful emotion, one that saved him many times, and he wanted his betas to find an anchor just as strong. He wanted to ensure they would be okay. Looking at them now, surrounded by the others, he couldn’t help but feel failure.

Looking at them all now, they all shared a similar goal. One to find the betas and return them home, but he never thought at how deep any connections went. It made him wonder, did Stiles bond with his betas when Derek didn't bond much at all?

"Where were you," he asked a little gravely. "What happened?"

Stiles looked back at Derek, his face still unchanging, but his eyes seeming to shift. They looked...darker? He shrugged. "I managed to give them the slip. I'm not sure how, but I managed to get to Deaton's, since he has the mountain ash and rowan wood protections, I figured it would be a good place to lay low for a while. I told him everything I saw, even about Erica and Boyd. I hoped he would be able to help."

Derek had listened to his heart the whole time. There was no evidence of a lie. There was nothing to indicate it, but Derek, he couldn't believe that the Alphas simply let Stiles go. "That's it, they just let you waltz away after chasing you for a bit?"

Stiles nodded. "As much as I have heard about how dancing under the full moon is exciting, I ran to Deaton's. Your guess is as good as mine as to why they stopped."

Derek was getting irritated with Stiles' nonchalance to the situation. He really thought the boy had a death wish. Where was his desire to remain out of this?

"What you did was reckless and complete foolishness. You put yourself in danger on a whim before you could prove it to be right and you put my pack in danger by having us run go save you." Derek was getting more growly by the second and with each word he felt his anger rise. He couldn't help it. Stiles was just standing there like it wasn't a big deal when it was. It was a huge deal. Derek didn't think about the the pack before being in harm's way from being out looking for Stiles when the Alphas were doing the same, but now that he had, it didn't make sense. Stiles would never play chess like that.

Stiles remained collected, but his eyes brightened, the honey seemed to melt. Derek could almost see gold fleck in the light brown depths. When he spoke, his voice was low, deep, and nearly a whisper, meant for Derek only. "I was aware of the risk, Hale. And I never asked for you help in assistance to myself, only to Erica and Boyd. The decisions you made afterwards were your doing. If you want someone to blame, look elsewhere."

"He is right, Stiles," Isaac said with a hurt look. "You could have gotten killed."

"There are many times I could have been killed over the past year," Stiles announced in a higher tone for the room. "It doesn't change anything when there are others I will put first."

Derek didn't know what to say to that. He expected Stiles to play it off again. Retort with a witty comeback or his usual sarcasm. What he spoke was a weighted response. It was truthful, Derek even knew that. However, there was this feeling, more emphasis on when Stiles said there were many times. Was Derek reading into it too much, or was Stiles just stating that they all had been in tense and deadly situations together over the past year?

Scott asked, "The Alphas, they just...left you alone."

Stiles nodded, not looking at the other boy. His eyes still on Derek. "I guess they did it after hearing that roar. I heard it too. It was enough to get them to leave some human alone. Was that you by the way?"

At the sudden question, Derek was speechless, but shook his head.

"It was Cora," Isaac said by the couch, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, making Stiles' honey eyes lock with his.

\--

"Cora?” Stiles asked in feigned ignorance, even though he saw Peter suppress a snort behind Isaac.

Isaac gestured to the sleeping girl, to which Stiles gave a closer look. He never really looked at the girl before. Sure he knew she wasn’t pretty, but he never picked out individual details. In the flurry of the night, he didn’t have that luxury. She had brown hair, falling partially on her shoulder, olive skin, soft pink lips, cheekbones that were familiar and chin similar to another in the room. Even in sleep she had a face that was controlled, not contorted in weariness, but not quite soft either. It was a look that he himself has had before, one that spoke of a sense of unease, even in sleep.

Without looking away from the girl, he let his magic roam over her, just a little, feeling the familiarity that he suspected was there. His gaze went back to Derek who was eyeing him with a look he couldn’t place.

“She’s your sister,” Stiles said by explanation.

The way Derek's eyebrows went up was almost comical. A few people in the room were just a surprised as he was, but others were looking at Cora with surprises too. It was Scott who voiced it.

"She's your sister. I thought your family died.”

Derek looked to be suppressing a growl at the mention of his family's untimely passing and so blatantly. “She somehow got away that night. I haven’t talked with her about it yet.”

"That’s great! I mean your not alone. You have her back. It means you are not the last of the Hales and they all didn’t die because of-“

"We get it Scott,” Stiles said sharply, quickly intervening. God Scott was s _o stupid_ sometimes. How could someone who always saw the good in everything, not see when he was being a complete douche or know when the room was tense? “She is alive, that is what matters. Oh and so is Peter, in case it slipped your mind.”

Stiles ignored Scott's dubious and stricken face. Peter gave him a cheeky smile, which nearly made Stiles roll his eyes, before looking back at Derek who was tense and looking at the floor, before turning his hard gaze to Stiles. It was hard to read the emotions behind it, so he was thankful when Isaac spoke up, breaking the tension.

“How did you know who she was,” he asked.

Stiles shrugged. “She looks a bit like her brother. And I remember her from...from before.”

Derek cocked his head just a fraction, clearly intrigued or maybe appreciative at the observation, but not pushing further.

“Okay. Anyways Cora, She just, went berserk. Like she was drugged or something."

"How do you mean," Deaton asked despite Stiles already telling him what all happened. He was playing his part well. Derek threw Isaac a glare nonetheless. The beta seemed to close his mouth, but it was Peter who continued the conversation.

"She acted like she was feral. Consumed with rage and blood thirst."

Deaton nodded a little. "Did you find her like this?"

They all shook their heads. "No it just happened. As soon as we got out of the bank and were heading to the cars. I saw her stop, suddenly, glance at the moon and then she doubled over."

"Hmm." The vet said, eyeing Cora from the door.

"What do you think, Doc," Stiles asked, although he already knew.

"It sounds like Moon fever," Deaton said speculatively, but with a small nod. 

Lydia pursed her lips, sitting back down on the arm of the chair closest to the door. "Which is what?"

Deaton sighed before putting shifting his bag to the other hand. "Moon fever is when a werewolf experiences a rush of rage and heightened intensity from the moon's pull after not experiencing it for sometime. Their senses become overloaded with aggression and primal instinct to hunt and protective themselves. This can happen in two ways, one where the werewolf suppresses their change from the full moon, or when the pull is lessened by other means, kept from them, which is even more dangerous."

"How can that happen," Scott asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Normally an experienced werewolf can control the shift, but even under the full moon, they must release some energy in some way to offset the aggression and primal instincts. Like a long run for instance. But certain things can suppress a were's change, dampen their aggression, even the effects of the moon. Certain spells, rituals, and even properties in their architecture can do that. If the werewolf is heavily drugged or sedated, it will cause the effects to lessen."

"Properties, such as what," Stiles asked next, not knowing this.

"You say she was found in the vault in the old bank, is that right," Deaton asked him. When he nodded, he went on. "Vaults and certain buildings for security purposes, made in the 80's and 90's, were made out of recycled rocks and materials. If I remember correctly, this vault's metallic coating was made with recycled copper, aluminum, iron and hecatolite."

Stiles' mouth nearly dropped. "Hecatolite!? Your kidding?"

"What's hecotolate," Scott asked butchering the word and making Peter roll his eyes and Jackson grit his teeth. Allison was standing near the edge of the circle, close to Isaac and Stiles noticed them both hide a smile. 

 _"Hecatolite,"_ Stiles said with some emphasis, "is a form of feldspar, commonly known as Moonstone."

"And what is your point," Jackson asked beside Lydia on the chair, looking bored with this subject.

"Moonstone has the distinction of fragmenting moonlight, scattering it away to other directions. Like a reflective surface."

Peter stepped closer to Cora on the other side of the room, looking at her before looking back at Stiles. "Which means she wasn't able to feel the full effects of the full moon."

Deaton nodded. "Precisely. I imagine it made her feel uncomfortable and depending on how long she was in that vault, even on normal nights, the moon's pull got weakened on her. It wasn't until she was directly underneath it that it came back all at once, too much for her body to process to maintain control."

"So she will be fine then," Derek said for the first time after all the talking started. He still hadn't moved, still rigid and tense, but eyes looking at the vet, a tinge of worry in them. 

"Yes. It took a lot out of her, but once the moon goes down, she should start feeling better, but she will feel sluggish for maybe a day or so, until her body gets back to feeling the consistency of the moon again."

That made everyone seem to relax just a little in the room, even Jackson. When one problem was taken care of it was like a breath of fresh air. It was short lived, but it was enough to make a little tension leave the room. When Isaac stepped away from Allison who stood still as a statue, he went over to Erica and Boyd. A look of worry on his face, making him look even more like a puppy to rival Scott.

"What about Erica and Boyd?"

Deaton walked a little gingerly towards them, still taking note in Derek's protective stance, or maybe it was his stubborn one, Stiles couldn't tell if there was a difference with him. When Stiles looked at Derek expectantly, the man held his gaze for a moment, a long one, before ultimately taking a step to the side, letting the vet closer. He moved around them to look at their front profiles. They didn't move, but they were all hoping they would, even if just a twitch.

"Stiles has filled me in on their current state." He said, ignoring the short glances people sent to Stiles who also ignored them. Deaton put his case down, pulling out a stethoscope and then doing a few listening tests with both of them, his face twisted into professional observation. Stiles had gone through all the details with Deaton, so he wasn't sure what Deaton expected to find. The man had said he had a few ideas, but he never shared it with him on their way over. He was silently watching with the others as Deaton took note of the beta's conditions.

The man did a few other things. Checking their pulses, flashing a light in their eyes, looking into their ears and mouths, checking temperatures-which were at a lower degree than normal werewolf, even lower than Stiles' temperature. It was like a werewolf physical exam that wasn't invasive. He even took a small cotton swab of their spit, something neither even batted an eye at. Their movements were so rigid that Deaton barely had trouble with them. It was like moving dolls to do whatever you wanted. He tested their DNA on small strips with individual paper squares, looking for signs of reactions, humming to himself when his findings came back, not giving away any clear sign of what he found. No good news or bad. The whole time, Stiles stood near him, arms crossed to keep from moving, while Derek stood on Deaton's opposite side, watching the man carefully.

Stiles figured his wariness and distrust of the former emissary would cause this reaction. After the planning with Scott thing to get back at Gerard, Deaton was also a sore spot to the Alpha. Yet it was still an amazing feat to have all three mistrustful people in his home, watching and/or tending to his betas. Maybe Derek was getting desperate. Stiles certainly felt like it recently. At some point, Peter had picked up Cora and took her upstairs to deposit her in one the untold number of rooms, no doubt letting her sleep off the fever. Stiles stayed watching Deaton after that, hoping he would come back with reassurance or cause for relief.

Stiles was concerned about what would happen when the betas woke up. He knew the moment they came back to them, they would take one look at him and either attack or shrink away, telling Derek and the others to throw him out or kill him. Honestly he was expecting it at this point. He may have found them, but he didn't protect them. He didn't prevent them from enduring this for who knows how long.

"As much fun as this is to watch, the suspense is starting to become an annoyance," Peter huffed, beside Stiles, nearly making him jump. When did he come back downstairs?

"I am not completely sure, but I suspect they are in this state of induced stasis. Similar to paralysis," Deaton said, putting his supplies back into his case.

"Induced?" Allison inquired, her voice shaking Stiles back to the realization that she was here.

"So you think they were drugged," Jackson spoke up next, eyebrows pinched together.

Peter shook his head. "That's not right. There is no drug out there that can cause a werewolf to shut down like this. We burn them off too quickly. If there was I would have heard of it. Not to mention it would be used widespread."

"Well there is one more test I want to try, I just need to go out to my car to get it," Deaton said standing back up straight. "Stiles would you come help me bring it up?"

Stiles arched an eyebrow, but shrugged. They left everyone in the loft, heading all the way down to the first floor, getting out of hearing range, before Stiles broke the silence. He was hating the tension of the situation and he hated the silence the doctor was known for. For once he wanted to see the man ramble like he did. Or used to. Stiles didn't ramble much anymore, but then it might be because his energy wasn't bouncing off the walls. Either way, when was the man's composure going to break rather than just crack. He had a feeling this wasn't a mere act of assistance anyway. "Alright spill it," he said. "What do you know?"

Deaton sighed as they got to his car, opening the trunk to put his bag back inside. "I believe it is a drug that is inducing this reaction from them."

"How," Stiles asked. "Is there one that can do this to a werewolf?"

"Not a drug of manufacturing purposes like we are used to. That test I did in there was a test on the scale of certain properties left behind from poisons and plants that are most common. Mistletoe came back positive," he said as he opened his bag again, pulling out another strip, this one in a tightly sealed bottle, with only one square on it, green in color.

"So they were poisoned." Stiles said, with a frown. He could feel his magic simmer under his skin, his anxiety showing. "Why hasn't it left their system yet, or why hasn't it killed them."

Deaton shook his head, pulling out one of the swabs he took from the betas. "Mistletoe works as a poison and a cure. It will not kill a werewolf, but it can act as a hindrance. But that is not what I suspect causes their unusual state of immobility."

Stiles leaned against the car, looking at the new strip with curious wariness. "Then what do you suspect it is?"

"This test," Deaton said gesturing to the strip he was opening, "will prove my theory or not."

With that, he dampened the swab with a dropper from another bottle of liquid, then rubbed it carefully on the exposed green square, before putting it back in the bottle and sealing it. It took a moment as he raised it up towards the overhead light over the parking lot. Stiles inclined his head down to look with him, holding his breath and waiting for something to happen. The green square slowly turned blue in a matter of seconds, immediately making Stiles look at the man for information of what it meant.

"Kanima venom," Deaton said in answer, lowering his arm. His mouth shaped into a frown.

"How is kanima venom in their system. Jackson was the only kanima around and that was months ago," Stiles exclaimed with a small flail of his arms. "That doesn't make sense."

Deaton shook his head. "I do not have that answer, except it is the venom that is keeping them in this state, the mistletoe is acting as an agent to keep them from healing. In the bloodstream it can cause a were's abilities to lessen, giving a more human experience. The venom, I suspect, is keeping them immobile, helping to keep the blood flowing without interruption while both the mistletoe and venom work through the body in constant motion."

"I thought the venom can wear off after a couple hours."

"Normally it can, but this a version of kanima venom that is at a different potency. The betas, had pinprick marks on their necks, they were small, not fully healed, but I believe this concoction was injected into them."

Stiles felt his eyes widen. "Why didn't you mention that up there," Stiles asked looking back to the building.

"I had to be sure," Deaton said as he closed his bag, taking the bottle with the new strip in it. "Now it's time to work on getting it out of their system."

Stiles nodded his head, hearing some positivity in this mess of chaos. "Okay, how are you going to do that."

Deaton shook his head. "Not me, Mr. Stilinski. You."

"Say what now," Stiles asked in confusion.

"The only way to get the poisons out is to bleed them out," Deaton said, but before Stiles could object with worry, he went on, "and since they are weak enough and no one wants to bleed them to possibly near death, that is where you come in. Your magic is the only thing that can ensure the poison comes out quickly and safely so that the risk to the betas is minimal."

"You want me to use my magic to force the poisons out, Stiles asked a little dumbfounded. "I-I can't do that. I don't even know how to do that."

Deaton shook his head. "You may not think you do, but your instincts say differently."

"How would you know what my instincts say?"

"You are a mage, Stiles," he said by way of explanation. "Your magic is different than most. It works in combination between your emotions and your desire. This is practically no different than pull water from a stream or from a plant's stem."

Stiles was shaking his head, taking a step back as he carded his fingers through his hair, making it stand up more. "Uh, this is completely different. First off, I could mistake the poison for their blood and make them bleed out. I could harm them more by trying to help them. Not to mention I have never done this before. How would I know how to do this? Also the pack doesn't know about my magic, how exactly am I going to do this and not get noticed?"

"You can do this," Deaton said with more confidence than Stiles thought he should have. "You don't have to get all of it out, but enough for their healing to kick back in so it can take care of the rest."

"No pressure, Doc," Stiles said in a clipped voice.

Deaton didn't answer. Instead he just went back inside, leaving Stiles to bring up the rear. Stiles was near shaking with the anticipation from this. So many things could go wrong with this. He has never done something like this and yet Deaton was making it sound so simple and easy. Well it wasn't. It so wasn't. What if the pack found out about him when he was trying to help? How would they react? Peter and Lydia excused, the others were wild cards. Stiles was fearful about doing this and it going wrong, but what if it went right? That would bring the wrath or fear of the betas down on him and he didn't know if he was willing to face that yet. No one else knew about what happened to them in Gerard's basement. No one else knew how badly Stiles failed them, how little his promise to find them later was. It took him months to find them and even then it was with help. _Magical_ help. 

What if he never had his magic? What then?

 _I'd be dead_ , a dark part of his brain supplied. And that was the scariest truth.

Regardless of his fears, he was going to do this. He knew he was going to. He couldn't walk away now, even if he wanted to. After all this time, he was going to make sure the betas were home, both body and in mind. Coming back into the loft, all eyes landed on them. Saving him from saying anything Deaton explained to them what he found. The shock was written on everyone's faces as he told them about his theory. He even went as far as showing an angry and concerned Derek the puncture marks of the needles on their necks. Deaton was right, they were small, looked over if you didn't know how to see them.

"So what do we do," Isaac asked with barely controlled worry.

"We need to get the poisons out, the only way to do that is to-"

"Bleed them," Derek said in a hard voice.

Deaton had the brains to look apologetic, but he nodded. "It is constantly cycling through their bodies, pumping in time with their hearts. If there is no interruption to the blood flow, then it will continue to stay in their bodies."

Derek's jaw ticked before clenching so tight, his jawline grew more prominent. Stiles hung back closest to the door as Deaton explained all of this. He was trying to not shake with nerves or anxiousness, but thankfully no one paid him any mind. All the wolves were close to the betas, even Scott, though he was on the outskirts. Lydia was closest to him, but even she was watching with her full attention. Allison was much the same on the other side of the room, not giving him any attention. Stiles watched as Derek struggled with the best course of action, seeing the gears work in his mind. Stiles could guess with certainty the thoughts the man was thinking. He was uncertain and fearful, but hopeful at the same time. Derek not liking hurting his betas like this, but seeing no other choice. Derek didn't trust Deaton, but if he was monitoring his heart, then there would be no lie to hear. All of the wolves would hear it and no one questioned his reasoned observations. 

"Alright," Derek said finally. "I'll do it."

Everyone looked at him before holding faces of resignation. This was the best option, they didn't have much else to work with. Even if they didn't know that Stiles would be do the real work. Slowly they all stepped back some, giving the Alpha room. Peter had retrieved two big bowls to put underneath one hanging arm of both betas. Stiles felt his anxiety spike at the realness of the situation, but he managed to keep his heart from going into overtime. When a couple towels were laid down by them just in case, Derek stepped forward, a worried look on his face. His lips turned down and his eyes dark. Stiles saw his throat bob from the force of him swallowing. 

He stood waiting, prepared for when the blood started to flow. As he watched Derek raised a knife to Erica's skin, cutting deeply across her inner wrist. She gave no reaction, just sat there, staring at nothing but the floor. The blood immediately came, running down her hand and dropping onto the towel, before Derek let her hand dangle over the bowl, moving on to do the same thing to Boyd. Once both cuts were made, Stiles saw the briefest look from Deaton, an indication to start.

Stiles sent his magic out to the two betas, careful to not make it obvious for the others. The warmth in his chest spreading out and leaving him slightly to go towards Erica and Boyd. It seeped into their bodies, and he could sense it around and inside them like an aura. Concentrating, he saw that aura change, going from the warm yellow to a cold grayish blue. He felt his magic linger over their wounded wrists like it was showing concern for them, like it knew they were hurt. Stiles could see the bowls filling up with the blood as the open wounds bled freely, nothing stopping them. Even as he looked at the pack, they all were watching the betas with identical looks of concern and anxiousness, waiting for them to move. Focusing harder, Stiles willed his magic to search. He could feel the pulse of the beta's heartbeats, feel each breath they took like it was his own. He felt their emotions, but they were muddled, next to non-existent as they were so still. They were unaware of what was around them, but there the faintest tinges of anger, fear, and sadness in them, clouded over like they were asleep.

Stiles searched their bodies, trying to find the poison, letting his magic roll through them. He stood so still in the room, that he mirrored the betas, his eyes glazed over as he concentrated. Centering himself he gather his energy to push it into his magic, trusting it to be his eyes in what he couldn't see. His magic was like a new sense that he could barely put into words. It gave him a new view on touch and hearing that he never experienced before. He could feel their body temperature, feel their hearts beating, hear the blood in their veins. His magic searched, flowing through them. He was getting used to the feeling of the warmth that engulfed them and himself, when a sudden sharp coldness ran over him. It felt like it was touching his skin, when it actuality nothing was touching him. It took him by surprise that he just barely stopped the gasp from leaving his lips. He vaguely saw the pack, looking between each other, either sitting in nearby seats, none breaking completely away from the semi-circle they formed around the betas. Deaton's eyes flicked to him, before looking back at the beta's again. The blood bowls filling up, not more than halfway full as the blood remained a steady stream.

He had to hurry. He ignored the small beads of sweat on his temple and the back of his neck. He focused back on the chill he felt, sensing with his magic what he had been looking for the whole time. The poison, combination of the mistletoe and kanima venom. It was a blight in their blood, the warm glow, becoming stained with the poisons' color, gray and clouded white. It made it feel like icy water running through his own veins, bringing with it funny feeling he couldn't place. Like he was numb. It took effort to push start pushing it. Using his magic, he gather it around the poison, making it flow faster through the body, leaving the rest of the blood alone. Stiles felt the sweat gather more on his brow, on the small of his back, as he gazed at nothing, letting his magic be his eyes. He focused on his task, pushing and shifting the poison towards the destination he needed. Vein after vein, pushing it back towards the chest so it could pump into the arm.

It was a painstakingly slow process and Stiles had no idea how long they waited. The bowls filling with each passing minute. So much so someone had brought two more bowls and was waiting to switch them out. With each beat of the betas' hearts it helped to push the poison harder, aiding Stiles as he felt his energy dwindling. It nearly toppled him over when he felt the sheer coldness of the poison push through the opening of the cuts, meeting the open air of the loft room. The warmth of his magic now fully around the betas. When Stiles began to pull his magic back, feeling the poison run down their skin and drop into the bowls, he seemed to finally breathe. It was like it was his first breath he took in ages. Cool, yet thick in his lungs as he took it in. The sweat was coating his brow and the back of his neck. 

He felt the slight trickle of blood under his nose, which he quickly wiped away on his red hoodie.

It worked. He didn't know how to explain it make it sensible, he just knew it worked. It was as Deaton said, his desire for it to work, and he found what he needed.

No one noticed Stiles' movements or the fact he was sweating or the blood he wiped away, no one but Deaton. Peter also looked at him quickly when he moved, but he didn't seem to notice he was wiping away blood from his nose. He most likely thought it was snot. Deaton looked a little worried about his state, noticing the blood, but he didn't comment, giving a small twitch of his lips, before looking away. Composing himself, he looked back at the immobile teens. The reaction didn’t take long, because as soon after Stiles finished the betas nearly jerked in their seats, he couldn't see their faces, but their claws extended and he knew their eyes were glowing and their teeth lengthened. Raspy growls sounded from their throats. Upon realizing they weren’t alone, they both got up quickly, making the chairs fall to the floor, now on the defense and attack, prepared for anything.

Derek’s face changed quickly from his stoic pained look to one of shock and then authoritative. His stance moved quickly, putting himself between everyone else as the pack gather around to the front of the teens, his claws out and his eyes a bright scarlet. When his warning snarl reverberated around them, bouncing off the brick walls and concreted floors, the betas cringed with the Alpha warning.

When they locked eyes with Derek, they both went stock still. No one dared breathe or move, waiting to see what the betas would do. Would they attack? Would they flee? Would they just shake it off like nothing happened? It happened so fast that no one saw Erica’s arms wrap around Derek’s waist, startling the Alpha. Boyd was more calm, letting himself shift back except for his eyes. That seemed to be enough for everyone else to gather closer around Derek and the betas. Deaton stepped to the side to give everyone else room, eyeing the pack with a calm face. Stiles...remained behind, hovering by the door.

He could hear Erica’s cries and he saw Boyd’s sad smile as he looked at Derek and then was engulfed in a hug by Isaac. Reassurances and laughs, mixing with tears from the pack. Lydia and Jackson were nearest Derek, watching with smiles, or in Jackson's case a silent smirk. Even Peter had a soft smile as he hung nearby with his arms folded over his V-neck shirt. Allison hung by the edge near Deaton, a small tilt of his lips. Scott was close to Isaac patting Boyd on the back like he was a friend. No one seemed bothered by the blood still on the beta's hands, now smeared on various shirts or skin, but the cuts would already healing quickly.

It all made for a nice picture, if it wasn't riddled with sharp edges.

Stiles was about to leave, not wanting to intrude on pack bonding. He also didn’t want to see Erica’s and Boyd’s faces when they saw him. He didn’t want to see their hurt and anger, the looks of disappointment aimed at him. Stiles was not up for a retelling of that night with Gerard and he most certainly didn’t have the strength nor the will to listen to how badly he failed them. He was a little sweaty and he was tired. His duty was done, now it was time to get back to the reality he had been living in. He was sure the Alpha pack was going to be his biggest issue now and he needed to prepare however he could. Peter was right in saying he had no thought things through, so now was his chance. He would leave the others to their bonding, crying, hugging, and everything else he wasn't a part of.

He was nearly past the threshold of the giant door when he heard Erica speak. Her voice as familiar as it was every night to him.

“Stiles,” she said in between heavy breaths. 

Stiles froze and he felt his heart skip a few beats. He was counting his stars for the cloaking spell he did earlier before the Alphas, but he couldn’t stop himself from noticing how his heart began to race and the weight settle in his stomach. He couldn’t handle what was about to happen. His brain already supplied the looks of hatred, disappointment and incredulity from his dreams. The same ones he has been seeing for months. Now this time, his brain came up with the rest of the pack’s. Ranging from Scott to Isaac. Growing in deeper emotions of disdain from Peter, Lydia, and Derek. 

God, he couldn’t face those. Not now. He knew he deserved it, every bit of venom they could dish at him. He was just too much of a coward to stay and hear it. 

\--

“Huh,” Isaac has said beside her as he unwrapped his arms from Boyd’s shoulders.

"Stiles,” she said, this time pulling back a little. “Wh-where is he,” she asked looking at Derek with a trembling lip. 

No one moved or said a word. They were all too stunned to say anything. Derek wasn’t competent enough through his mixed emotions as he was baffled looking at the She-wolf like she had two heads.

"Where is he,” she said more strongly, her eyes flicking from yellow to normal, glistening wet. "Is he okay, please tell me he is okay.”

"What?" Derek asked still stupefied.

"Erica what-" Isaac began only to be cut off by Boyd.

The dark color teen said quickly, "Tell us."

"He is-" Lydia began, her hand starting to gesture towards Stiles by the door when she was interrupted by Derek.

"What's wrong," the Alpha asked in a hard tone.

 Erica stepped back, wiping at her eyes. She wiping at the left over blood on her wrist, smearing it on her pants leg. "Gerard, he took us, before the Alphas, he was holding us. He took Stiles too."

The silence in the room seemed to be deafening. Everyone engrossed in the two betas who were moments before paralyzed. Peter was the first to speak, stepping closer, unfolding his arms. "What do you saying?"

"He was there that night. Gerard took him, where is he,” she pleaded with tears running down her cheeks. 

“What?” Scott asked confused like the rest of them. Unbeknownst to them Lydia was trying hard to not fidget. Deaton remained studiously calm like he wasn't there. "That's not true," Scott said with a shake of his head.

"He was going to kill him,” Boyd said his eyes hard and gut wrenching lay distraught. “He wanted to kill him.”

"Please tell me Derek,” Erica said again, Boyd stepping close to her to offer some sort of comfort, putting his hand on her shoulder.

Derek was so confused that he didn’t know what to say. Stiles with Gerard. Gerard took Stiles? What did that mean? Why was Erica and Boyd so upset?  He looked at Peter, who was as confused as him, before leveling a glare with Scott.

"You worked with Stiles to get back at Gerard and you let Gerard take him," he asked, the sentence coming out a growl.

Scott shook his head again. He was looking confused and a little annoyed by Derek's words, but he stated, "No. Stiles had no idea about my plan. If Gerard took him. I didn't know. We all saw him that night, he couldn't have been taken."

"If I remember correctly, he had cuts on his face," Lydia through in between gritted teeth, careful to not say more.

"He was playing lacrosse that night," Isaac defended.

"Gerard had his men take him from the field," Erica nearly shouted. She was getting agitated, her eyes watery and looking from person to person. No one giving her affirmation on whether or not Stiles was okay. "He was there with us. Gerard hurt him for hours."

Scott was looking equal parts confused and afraid. Lydia had a dark scowl on her face. Jackson and Isaac didn't know what to think. Boyd was behind Erica looking at Derek, not breaking his eyes away from the Alpha. Peter looked like he was coming to a realization. Allison guiltily looking down at the ground with worry and anger. Deaton, remained like a statue, letting everyone work this out.

Derek was frozen. His wolf howling and whining in his head now. It was so quiet earlier and not scratching at him. He could feel his own heart skip a beat. Scott's words echoing in his head. Stiles didn't know about the plan. Stiles wasn't part of it. That couldn't be right. Scott wasn't smart enough for that. Stiles would never allow Scott to do something like that without him knowing about it. He tried to remember back to that night, thinking about Stiles at the warehouse. Why couldn't he remember what Stiles looked like? Was he bleeding? Did he have cuts on his face? All he could remember was the argument, his words, and the fact that Derek was betrayed. He was forced to bite the man who was behind his families deaths. The man who hurt so many. Who took his betas, who took Stiles. Oh God, Stiles...didn't know. How could he not know?

“Derek!”

He was shaken from his thoughts by Erica gripping his wrist tightly, her eyes red, tear streaks down her slightly dingy cheeks. Her eyes were wide, wide with questions but about all fear. Terror in fact. He didn’t understand, he needed answers.

Stiles. Stiles was here. He would tell them. Speaking of Stiles...why hasn't he spoken? He would tell them the truth if Derek had to snarl in his face for it. Turning he seeked out the honey eyed teen. All the wolves turned around in confusion, Lydia, Allison, and Deaton looking towards the door. The door was wide open, leaving an emptiness where they were all so sure the teen once was. 

Stiles was already gone. 

 


	23. Reasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lo an behold another chapter. Already onto the next one. Now that our favorite betas are present, more fun to be had. Cora will be having quite a few words soon too, so keeping reading and you'll see. Now you will see more feelings and more things falling into place. Can you predict what happens next?

“Where is he,” Scott asked, as they all looked to see the empty space between them and the still open door.

"No one was watching him," Jackson asked with deadpanned look that earned him a glare from Scott and another smack on the head from Lydia.

Erica looked wildly out at the door, searching for Stiles, looking to Derek for confirmation that he in fact was there. "He's alive," she asked pleadingly.

Derek found himself nodding his head before returning his kaleidoscope gaze back to her. It's strange, he didn't even notice Stiles had left. Apparently no one did. Why did he leave? Why didn't he say anything? Why did he keep it a secret? His wolf whined in his head, pawing at his mind, pretty much on repeat with the same words. _Hurt, Stiles, missing,_ rolling through his mind with each whine. 

Why would Stiles keep this from them? Or better question, how did no one notice?

"I'm going to go find him," Scott said, already starting to move towards the door. "This can't be true."

"We are not lying," Erica shouted. Boyd growling right behind her.

"Well you are not telling the truth either." Scott sneered. "My best friend would not have kept something like this from me. I certainly don't believe this. If this is true then why wouldn't he tell us? Why wouldn't he tell his brother in all manner but by blood? It has been months since then and not once has he mentioned it. How could he not tell me any of this?"

The beat of silence after his rant was deafening before Lydia broke it. "Your kidding, right,” she had asked with barely concealed anger. “You’re really going to make this about you? You learn that Stiles was held captive and beaten, and you are mad that you didn’t know?”

"Well yeah, he is my best friend? He should have said something!”

“He shouldn’t have had to you Jackass!" Lydia screamed, silencing everyone in the room. She pushed Jackson away who looked offended, but said nothing. Erica and Boyd regarding her with curious awe. Scott's eyes went like saucers, watching Lydia as she took a step towards him, a death glare in her green eyes, her cheeks flushed. "You saw him that night, bruised and with cuts on his face and you didn’t think anything of it. You think all of that was made up, that it was from a game where he had padding and a helmet. You were too busy preening that Gerard was taken care of, in which newsflash, he winds up escaping and now somewhere under the radar. So technically you did _nothing._ ”

Scott looked affronted, his eyes looking from Lydia to the rest of the room, almost like he expected some back up. Derek found himself looking at Isaac who was looking guiltily to the floor. Allison was also looking at the floor, her face unreadable, but her scent also tinged with shame. "I saved Jackson and helped stop a madman," Scott said after a few beats with a nod towards the jock.

"'Stop' meaning letting him slip away like the snake he is, bravo Scott. Your plan worked beautifully.”

Erica took a step away from Derek, her steps a little wobbly from still healing and sitting for who knows how long, putting herself closer to the pair. Her hands clenching at her sides.  “Shut up both of you! I don’t care what happened, I want to know about Stiles.”

"Stiles is fine,” Scott said dismissively continuing to glare at Lydia.

Boyd growled quietly, his impatience showing. Derek was surprised by all of this talk about Stiles. He was surprised and didn't know what to say or do in this scenario. His betas were acting insistent on the information. It was not unusual for Erica to act strongly on some things, but Boyd who was always silent, was showing more emotion than he had in all the time Derek had known him. And it was all towards Stiles. He could smell their scents. Wary, tired, and sickly. Months of being malnourished, evident in their bodies and their clothes, but their emotions were drowning that out. Fear, concern, anxiousness all piling over one another with each passing second.

"He was here," Isaac said gently, trying to diffuse the tension. "He left, but...he was here."

Derek turned to Scott. "Who gave you the plan for the mountain ash to stop Gerard?"

Scott glared at him, standing up straighter, looking a little too smug for anyone's liking. "I came up with it."

"Actually, I gave him that particular idea," Deaton said eyeing Scott with a disappointed look. The man had been so quiet for all of this time that Derek nearly forgot he was there. When he looked at the vet he was standing calmly, looking at Scott, before meeting Derek's eyes.

Scott looked at his boss with a hurt look. "Well yes, but I carried it out. I got Gerard's pills and Deaton helped put the mountain ash in them. It was the only non-lethal way."

"Non-lethal," Peter said breezily. "That was far more than that man deserved after all that he has done. What he has done to Stiles as well."

"I didn't know," Scott said with a bit of guilt in his voice, but otherwise his face unchanging. "I had to protect my mom and Allison."

"But not Stiles," Peter said with a growl that Derek could feel on his skin.

"Stiles would have gone to you if he knew," Scott said as if he was explaining this to a child who was not paying attention. "I made a choice."

"And you also made a mistake," Allison said from behind them all, near Deaton. She was looking at Scott with a hurt expression, but also resolved. Her arms at her side, body relaxed. When Scott looked at her, his eyes softened before going to confused.

Erica and Boyd however growled at her. "What the hell is she doing here," Erica snapped.

For whatever reason Allison looked chastised, looking down in shame, her scent spiking in bitterness. Scott came to the rescue by putting himself between her and the betas, but it was Isaac who spoke. "She was here to help find Stiles after he located the both of you with the Alphas."

That seemed to make Erica freeze, but not for Allison's benefit. "Stiles found us?"

"Yes, he did," Lydia said with a little smile.

"That still doesn't explain why she is still here," Boyd said, still glaring at Allison. 

Erica nodded. "The last time we saw little huntress here, she was shooting arrows into Boyd for her grandfather. How many arrows was it anyway. I lost count after the third one."

"What," Derek asked.

"That is how Gerard got us," Erica said. "Thanks to his granddaughter."

"That's bullshit," Scott said, growling with his eyes beginning to glow. "Allison would never do that. Tell them Allison. Tell them they are wrong, like always."

When no one spoke, no one moved, Scott seemed to growl even more. When he turned to look at Allison she wasn't meeting his eyes. Derek watched as Scott straightened turning to her fully. Isaac was shifting beside him, inching towards them only to stop himself. Erica and Boyd softly growling, but staying quiet otherwise. Lydia and Jackson watching with no words. Deaton staying calm along with Peter, who both looked completely unsurprised. 

"Allison," Scott asked.

When she looked up, she had wet eyes. "I'm um...I'm going to go."

They all watched as she headed towards the door. Erica muttering a 'please do' under her breath that had Scott growling again and clenching his hands. When she was gone and they heard the lift lowering down past their floor, Scott turned back to the group. He was shaking his head at them, like he was the one disappointed. "She didn't do anything wrong."

"Other than helping her crazy gramps kidnap us to torture us," Erica snarled. "To torture Stiles."

"She's a good person," Scott yelled. "Stiles understands that. She would never allow Gerard to hurt Stiles if she knew."

"Are you fucking stupid or oblivious," Erica seethed.

The two nearly jumped at each other if Derek didn't step in. He was getting a headache. His wolf was still whining and his mind was going a mile a minute in different directions. There were questions he still wanted answers to. He didn't know where to begin with them, but he didn't want them to start with a fight. Especially not one in his own place. Derek didn't have the patience to deal with Scott's blind love for the Argent, he wanted to get to the bottom of things.

"Enough," he said with a flash of his eyes for all the good it would do.

"I don't take orders from you," Scott sassed. "Neither would Stiles if he were here."

"You think he would side with you right now," Lydia asked with an arched brow, watching all of this with hard look.

"I'm his best friend. I know what is good for him." Scott said without a care in the world as he defiantly looked up at Derek.

Lydia scoffed, making a few of them look at her. The redhead was shaking her head as she stared at Scott. Her eyes were a little wide, as if she was seeing him for the first time. ”Wow I feel sorry Stiles. Truly I do when you are supposed to be his best friend, that you are the one he is supposed to be able to turn too.”

”Like you are any better!" Scott said turning a glare towards her, his claws sliding out a little. "You didn’t even know who he was before all of this supernatural crap. You still wouldn’t if Jackson hadn’t butted his way into it out of jealousy. Not s single one of you gave a damn about him before or even after all of you were turned. I’m pretty sure the one who cares most about him in this room is me. As always.”

”For a best friend, you certainly assume much for him,” Jackson exclaimed next to Lydia.

”Fuck off Jackson, I don’t have to explain any reasonings to you.”

Derek was fast losing his patience. Putting himself back in Scott's line of sight he said, "But you do to me. After what you did, you are lucky you are still walking. Your plan to incapacitate Gerard nearly put all of my pack at risk. And he still got away after he took my betas and your best friend, whom your were supposed to be keeping an eye on.”

”Stiles would have been fine if you didn’t involve him. It’s because of you Gerard took him.”

”He took him to send a message to you,” Boyd spoke up to the crowd. “It was a message to both of you. That your actions have consequences and he could still take from you.”

Scott was breathing heavily now, his shift starting to become more prominent. His eyes fully shifted and his claws out. His fangs were slightly sharper than a humans and growing by the second. ”I made the plan to make sure Gerard couldn’t take the ones I loved. He threatened Allison and my mom.”

”And Stiles,” Lydia asked, her green eyes like daggers. “Did Stiles fit into that category for you?”

”I didn’t want him to know.” Scott said petulantly. “The less people who knew the better. I knew if he knew then the chances of you knowing were higher. I didn’t need his help.”

"Correction," Peter said smoothly, "you didn't want his help."

Scott snarled, the sound bouncing off the wall. His beta form now on full display. "No. I wanted to do this on my own. I didn't want or need his help. I didn't need him to make a plan, or come up with an idea, or get in the way. I didn't want him to go running to any of you. He wouldn't have listened nor would he have agreed with the plan so I did it my way. For once I did my plan where no one had to get hurt. For once no casualties of any sort!"

"Except there was a casualty," Deaton said in the silence that followed. After a few beats the man had spoken, getting everyone's attention, shaking them from the Scott's outburst. The truth had been revealed. Scott had done this because of his stubbornness and his morals. He wanted to take credit, not thinking of any consequences. "Stiles was hurt."

"Gerard wouldn't have hurt him," Scott said stubbornly, saying those words with certainty that was misplaced.

Deaton shook his head, "Your wrong Scott. He did hurt him. I tended to his wounds because he refused to go to the hospital."

Everyone seemed to realize the seriousness of the situation. Lydia didn't show much change in her expression of silent fury at Scott, but no one noticed. Derek just as silent, but not with just fury, with guilt. Guilt for not knowing. How could none of them notice? The more they spoke about Stiles being hurt, the more he felt the urge to track Stiles down to see this for himself. He may have seen him barely a half hour ago, but it did nothing for the images that was flooding through his mind. With the whining and howling from his wolf, it made it harder to resist. Figuring what the hell, he headed towards the door, pulling his keys from his pocket and grabbing his jacket.

"Where are you going," he heard Peter say behind him. Derek didn't turn around as he shrugged his jacket on in mid-stride.

"I need to talk to Stiles," Derek said with finality as he left the loft, closing the door behind him as a message of saying, he was going alone.

 

*** * * * * * ***

Stiles had made it home quickly thanks to his magic. His dad was at work and Danny was waiting for him. Stiles was barely able to get the words out because he felt like he was on the verge of shaking. He felt strangely happy for the truth to be out, but terrified at the same time. He didn't know how long he was sitting on the couch with Danny trying to coax him to talk about what had happened. The only thing Stiles managed to say was, 'They know.'

It was enough for Danny to understand. After that, he said nothing, but stayed close, providing comfort by presence. They both knew what was coming now, so all they could do was wait. It was like an impending doom approaching, making them wait with baited breath. When the knock came, Stiles felt a little relieved to not be waiting any longer.

When Stiles saw Derek standing there, his face in his usual scowl, his shoulders rigid, hands in his coat pockets, his chest tightened and his magic fluttered in his gut. The man was highlighted by his porch light, yellow cascading down over him, making the sharpness of his cheeks bones and jaw stand out more, his hair darker, yet take on an eerie color, and look even more imposing. Stiles wasn't deterred though. He has grown used to the Alpha's grumpy look and his hard edges. The man always gave the impression of doing what he wanted. It surprised Stiles a lot the time and not so much others. The fact that he knew how to use a door that wasn't his own was one such surprising moment.

Without much more thought, Stiles inclined his head back towards the stairs, telling Derek to go up to his room. Derek went past him, not saying anything carrying the scent of leather, forest and spice with him. Derek leveled Danny with his usual glare, a tiny twitch in his eyebrows before brushing past him. Stiles swallowed as Derek climbed the stairs not looking back as the door was shut. Stiles gave Danny a look, just one look that no doubt spoke more volumes than could be put into words in that single moment. Danny's lips tightened but otherwise said nothing and went into the living room to sit and attempt to avoid the impending conversation.

Heading upstairs felt strangely like walking towards his trial, but when he made into his room and closed the door, Derek was waiting for him near his door, staring ahead in his room. Stiles peaked around him to find him staring Luna down, who was softly growling from his bed. If Stiles didn't know any better, he thought he heard Derek growling too. Inching to the left, Stiles flicked his gaze to Derek who didn't waver in his stare, his eyes bleeding red. And bless Luna and her fierce attitude, for she did not back down from the Alpha werewolf that was Derek Hale. Instead she rose up on her in a sitting position, growling a little louder. Derek, seemed a little shocked, his own growling ceased, a twitch of his expressive eyebrows. With a chuckle at the turn of events, Stiles ticked at Luna, inclining her to move and leave the room. Her white and black form, got up slowly from the bed and then trekked over to the door. Derek moved out of the way, heading further into the room, giving her way to leave which Stiles chuckled at again.

Once Luna left, he closed the door behind them, finding the man on the other side of the room, his hands still in his jacket, his eyes on the floor.

"You have a dog now," he asked rather curiously, still not looking up.

Stiles shrugged, "She was part of the K-9 unit at the station before she got hurt a few months ago. Dad brought her here to heal and then I guess...yeah, yeah she's mine."

Derek gave a inclination of understanding but didn't say anything for a few moments. Stiles could feel the tension building in the air, like an invisible thick fog over the room, threatening to choke anyone who dared breathe first. As much as Stiles didn't want to have this talk, didn't want to delve into any memories of that night, he wanted to just rip the band-aid off.

"Is it true," Derek asked quickly when Stiles opened his mouth.

Stiles was pleasantly surprised he didn't start first, but was thankful nonetheless. He didn't know how to start this. Should he apologize? Should he confess everything? Should he let all of his anger out, all of the bitterness, the pain and hurt, the loneliness he felt over the months of being viewed as a traitor. Instead he swallowed any venom and resentment he had, choosing to be the bigger person and say, "Yes, it's true."

"Why the hell didn't you say anything," Derek growled, running a hand over his face, his expression hard, his multi-colored eyes searching Stiles'.

Stiles stared incredulously at him. His anger already starting to rise, his magic along with it. He needed to keep it together. He couldn't let Derek find out about his magic. "What makes you think I didn't?"

"How about that no one knew? That it was long after, when Erica and Boyd were rescued that this little secret was exposed."

"It was my secret to tell," Stiles said crossing his arms.

Derek huffed. "And you didn't think about telling me that my betas were at the Argent house that night, before they were captured by the Alpha's. Was that a secret you wanted to keep too?"

Now Stiles was angry. How dare Derek think that? How could this man think so little of him at every turn? "I would choose your words carefully, Hale."

Derek bristled at the mention of his surname. His eyes boring into Stiles' and his jaw clenched tight. He strode towards Stiles, who didn't even move, He grabbed him by his shirt and pushed him back against the wall next to his door, pressing him hard. Stiles could feel the warmth off the man's body, the coolness of the leather jacket against his hands. Stiles didn't even bat an eye as Derek got into his face, the swell of his scent flooding Stiles' nose. His hazel eyes, seeming impossibly brighter this up close.

"Why didn't you tell me what happened that night," Derek said partially growling low in his throat, his grip tight around Stiles as he pressed up against him, trapping him.

Stiles met his eyes full on, never wavering. "I tried to. Or have you forgotten our conversation that night." Stiles saw Derek's jaw twitch, his eyes seeming to glaze over before focusing back on him. "I did try, but you didn't listen. You were so sure I had betrayed you. So sure that I knew all along about what was going to happen."

Derek jerked at the mention of his supposed betrayal, his grip loosening.

"It didn't matter," Stiles went on, raising his head higher, never looking away from Derek's eyes, trying to convey everything Stiles remembered from the last time he and the Alpha were this close back that wretched night, "that I was bloody, cut open, bruised and battered. You didn't want to listen to me, as always. You didn't want to see what was right in front of you."

"I...," Derek tried to say, but nothing else came. He looked stricken, his face morphing to almost pain, but trying not too.

"You refused to hear me out. Why?"

"I just...I," he tried again, taking a step back, releasing Stiles. His eyes darted back and forth, his jaw working overtime in the clenching department. Stiles was on a roll now. Instead of Derek grilling him about that night, it was Stiles' turn. He knew Derek didn't trust him. He knew Derek didn't trust his word or his judgement, didn't see him as pack. Damn it he wanted to know why.

"Come on," he said, raising himself away from the wall. "Tell me the reason, since your so big on mine. Tell me what made you so insistent on seeing me as the culprit."

Derek shook his head, taking another step back, his voice deeper as he said, "Stiles."

"Why Hale?"

"Because you lie," Derek said in a outburst growl, his eyes flashing, holding his hands straight at his sides. "You lie a lot. It is usually over something stupid, like what you were doing before I walk in, or saying your aren't nervous or scared when you are. But when it’s serious, it comes so easily to you. Your heart barely skips and half the time it is hard to tell when your heart beats so frantically anyway. You are smart and cunning, always with a plan. Always the go to for Scott. It made _sense_ for Scott to go to you for something like that. When you want to be you can become conniving, hiding behind trickery and a silver tongue. Just like others I know, like hunters, like Ka-"

Stiles felt the air get knocked out of his lungs when Derek stopped himself. His stomach dropping and his heart clenching so tight it hurt to try and take air in. His magic, previously swelling from his anger, suddenly dispersing and curling around itself in a dark corner of his chest. He felt his body go slack, cold, his fingers tingling from it. It was like he was having a panic attack, only this time, there was no panic. Just the pain from finally getting the truth. And God, did it hurt. It hurt more than Stiles could ever have known. After everything he has suffered through, this was much worse. This was far from what he suspected that he was blind sided by it.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what Derek was going to say. It wasn't exactly a mystery on who haunted his waking nightmares, who plagued his fears at every turn. It didn't take an ounce of thought for Stiles to know Derek meant _her._

He could feel the swell of tears threatening to rise to his eyes, the familiar clutch of his lungs in his body as he tried to breathe through the shock and hurt. His mind racing and yet he couldn't pinpoint a single thought for longer than a few seconds. His eyes never left Derek, who was looking back at him with his own stricken face, his eyes clouded with emotions that Stiles had no energy to notice. He felt his body weigh down heavily, whatever fuel he had exiting his body, leaving him raw and exhausted. It was like he had been punched in the chest and his blood was flowing out of him, taking his life essence, leaving behind a shell. The sting felt like he was stabbed with an icy spear, chilled and numbing.

"Stiles I..." Derek began in a somewhat shaky voice.

"Don’t," he said rather calmly, detached. He wanted this over with. He wanted nothing more than for envelope of total blackness. Even his nightmares he would welcome if it meant he could escape this. "You have said more than enough. It doesn’t change anything."

"But I didn’t-"

Stiles shook his head slowly. "Save it, Hale. Guess I got my answer."

"Stiles-" Derek said taking a step closer to Stiles.

This time though, this time Stiles _flinched_. It was a gut reaction, one where he just didn't want to be touched or crowded. He didn't want to be threatened or appeased. He just wanted to be left alone _._ He jerked away from Derek, nearly hitting the wall behind him with his shoulder, his hand instinctively going to the knife still hidden under his shirt. Derek's eyebrow rose to his hairline, his eyes widening, now frozen in place, watching the reaction of what he brought on. Stiles would have laughed at the reaction if he could find it in himself to find this funny right now. He thought about what Derek could be thinking. How imposing he could be to someone like Stiles, one who has already been harmed enough by others, only to be in a room with him, alone, in the dark. Apparently it was enough to make Derek back up a few steps, putting him on the other side of the room.

His next move was impulsive, but he didn't care. If it meant Derek would leave, then he would take it. He pulled up his shirt partly, showing the scar across his right side, from oblique to the center, below his belly button. The pink scar that was as ugly as it was beautiful in the silvery light of the moon in his window. Stiles has grown used to it, but has not ever shown it willingly. 

“This was one of the mementos one of his men left me that night,” Stiles said without much emotion. Derek’s eyes traveled down to the mark, his eyes widening just a fraction, his face going blank as he stared. It wasn’t full of emotion, but it was the stare that told Stiles just how much Derek couldn’t look away. "When I  _lied_  to protect you, to protect your pack from them. I refused to tell them anything, lying through my teeth, and they knew it too. Dealing out punishment for my unwillingness to cooperate. Not that you have a right to know. I got this believing in something and look where it got me.” 

It took a moment for Derek to raise his eyes. Bright green, gray, and blue even in the dark of his room. They were soft and perhaps bordering on vulnerable, compared to the mask Derek's face was. Lowering his shirt, Stiles walked over to his bed to sit down on it. No longer wanting to stand or even be awake. He rubbed his hands over his face, closing his eyes, trying to breathe through the pain in his chest. If his heart was beating rapidly, neither took notice.

 "I...I'm-"

"Please...just go. I’m tired and I...I want to be alone," he said without looking up at the Alpha.

Stiles didn't see how Derek looked to want to argue, wanting to say more, but closed his mouth when nothing seemed to come out. With a stiff face and a grim mouth he nodded with a hard swallow. Turning towards the window and jumping out, leaving Stiles in his dark room. Eventually, after what seemed like an hour of staring at the floor, Stiles took off his shoes, took off his jacket, jeans and throwing on pajama pants, climbing into bed. He covered himself in his blankets, welcoming the starker black around him.

If his eyes watered then, dripping down his cheeks to land on his pillow below, then it was just for him to know underneath his blankets, alone in his room.

*** * * * * * ***

Stiles slept through until his nightmare woke him up early the next morning. Thankfully he was able to get a few more hours sleep than he usually was used to. Either way he still woke up in a cold sweat, his magic burning under his skin and in his eyes. He has gotten used to the feeling of it showing in his body, making itself known when his emotions are running high and he can't consciously hold it back. It was a more and more that Danny's link with him was keeping his magic grounded, helping him to keep it not just on this plane of existence, but under control, even if Danny wasn't doing anything at all, but just living and breathing.

Stiles still felt drained, tired and shaking away the remnants of his nightmares, he pulled himself out of bed. He wasn't meeting Chris today, so he had nothing better to do this morning, but he found the routine of exercising, constantly moving, putting his body through the motions of flexing and contracting his muscles was something to help settle him as well as his magic. Stiles still hasn't taken any of his Adderall. He was wondering how long it would take before his dad noticed. Stiles wanted to tell him, but the man had hardly been home and when he was, Stiles was always distracted. Between magic and the pack, the Alphas and finding Erica and Boyd, Stiles didn't give his ADHD medication adherence much thought.

He was prepared to go outside to warm up and do a few drills with his boxing, or work on some spells, when he found Danny downstairs on the couch. The boy was sound asleep. He was still in his street clothes from the night before and Luna was sleeping with him, beside the couch. Upon his arrival, she woke up giving a soft huff, her tail thumping against the hardwood in little pats. Stiles put his finger to his lips to shush her before giving her scratch before the ears. Instead of going outside to physically train, he sat down at the table after preparing a pot of coffee, not doing anything, but taking the time to just sit there. There was no rush, nothing for him to research at the moment, just think. It was a bad thing to do, because it left him with no distraction. It just left him with his thoughts, which inevitably turned to last night, to the pack, to the Alphas, the Nemeton. To...Derek.

He shouldn't care, the logical part of him was saying. He shouldn't feel this way. The man has made it clear how he thought of him. He made it clear that he couldn't trust him, that he saw him as...as someone he surely wished he could forget. Stiles wasn't naive to think that Derek really thought of Stiles as her, it was just through the things Stiles has done. He could pretend it didn't hurt, but it did. He didn't even know why. Why should he care what Derek thought of him? They weren't friends, they were just two people thrust into working together at time all to survive. So why does it hurt so much to know that the man would never accept him?

Danny had come up right then, sitting in the seat next to him, not saying anything. Obviously it was still early, dawn just barely passed as the sun slowly rose higher. Luna came over with him, sitting down next to Stiles to lay her muzzle on his thigh. He absentmindedly scratched her head, not  fully aware of either of them. It was Danny wrapping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders that shook him from his thoughts. Stiles didn’t really want to be touched, but he sagged a little into Danny’s side anyway, feeling some contentment from the weight of his arm around him. He felt like Danny was wanting to say something, but restraining himself from it. Stiles felt his own anger and sadness, hurt, and crushing guilt come over him, riddled with confusion and worry. Wait what?

What was he confused for? He knew what to expect from all of this. He finally got why Derek didn’t trust him, why he couldn’t. Because Stiles made it that way. He knew Derek’s issues had issues, but he never thought about how deep they ran or how tight of a grasp they held onto Derek’s conscience or his emotions. Stiles has proven to be moral, but he’s proven to be mischievous, sly, and manipulative. Traits all to familiar to Derek. Traits that he once overlooked or maybe never wanted to see until after everything was ripped away from him. Stiles felt huge sense of guilt for that. He never wanted Derek to see him that way. He only ever wanted him to trust him, not be...scared of him. He was angry at Derek for never telling him this, never giving him the chance to correct it, but he was more angry at himself. It seems no matter what he did, the ripples of his actions went out farther than he ever thought before. Stiles would say after everything he has done, he has proven to be trustworthy, but maybe Derek needed more than that. Or maybe he just couldn't see it, or wouldn't. Either way, it just meant that Stiles and Derek would never see eye to eye, not fully.

So...why was he confused? Why was he worried? What made it weird was that it didn’t feel right to him. It didn’t feel like it had a logical outlook to what he was thinking. So why was he feeling it?

He felt Danny squeeze just a little bit tighter on his shoulder. Stiles looked up slightly to the other boy’s face, only to find Danny with a creased brow, his eyes on the tabletop. He was clenching his jaw, then wetting his lips with his tongue. He looked, worried and sad.

"Danny, what’s wrong,” Stiles asked quietly.

His friend looked up with raised brows, not expecting Stiles to speak so soon, before shaking his head. "Nothing. Nothing, it’s just...I don’t know. I can’t really explain it. I know your talk with Derek didn’t go well. I didn't want to push or anything. I just didn’t expect to feel...sad? Sad about it.”

"You feel sad?" Stiles inquired, weighing that knowledge before pressing for hopefully a better explanation. "Why?"

Danny shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I feel sad, but also angry the same time."

Strangely, Stiles was beginning to have a theory. It was a bit crazy and maybe there wasn't much validity, but for some reason, he couldn't shake it. The more Danny told him, the more it seemed that Danny was just as confused about this as he was. Another thing he found was, he was experiencing something similar to Danny. Feelings that didn't quite seem right.

"And are you angry?"

"What yeah," Danny said, looking at him like it was obvious. "I just said that. I mean, I’m angry that he comes in, and I thought finally he understood, that he was back to apologize or say he was wrong but then I saw him leave through your yard last night, and now you are looking like he just kicked your puppy. It pisses me off. I’m not going to ask what you talked about because it’s not my business but obviously it didn’t go well. But I still feel sad and I’m not sure why, when I didn’t know what was said."

Stiles could feel his mood switch to curiosity and something akin to fascination. His theory was taking better shape and now he wanted to test it.

"And now? How do you feel?”

Danny looked at him like he was losing his mind but he indulges his questions, although there is a big sigh before he answers, “Like I’m still angry...but...but in wonder. Or curious?” Danny was getting more confused by the minute. So much so his brow was furrowing even more and his eyes went downcast. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if he thought he was losing his mind. With that Stiles laughed. Like full on laughed at the complete oddity of the situation. That caused Luna to wag her tail, her tongue lolling out, while Danny scowled.

"What is amusing to you," he deadpanned.

"Um..no nothing. I mean, I'm as confused as you are, but still the irony of this happening, it's rather funny."

"And what is this?"

Stiles took a deep breath. He was trying to think of a way to explain this without making Danny more confused and without sounding like someone who should be in Eichen house. His theory wasn't original, which is where the irony came in to play, but he found it funny if what he believed was true, that the result was this. Especially when it was accidental.

"Okay," Stiles said, shaking off Danny's arm to looking at him square in the face. "I think, the reason this is confusing to us is because we are not experiencing our emotions separately." Danny looked even more dumbfounded. "I think we can feel each other’s emotions."

Danny blinked. Once, twice, a third time before cocking an eyebrow. He tilted his head as if waiting for Stiles to say 'gotcha.' When it didn't come, he gave rueful smile. "You're kidding right?"

"What do you think," Stiles asked calmly. "Or better question, what do you feel?"

It took Danny a few moments before he understood. Stiles saw the recognition flash behind his eyes as he thought it all over. The confusion mixed with the incredulity and doubt, followed by consideration, then finally possibility. "Your saying we are...empaths?"

"I don't think so. Think about it. We are both feeling emotions that we don't quite understand their origins for, their purpose. You were feeling sad a few moments ago, but don't know why, when your brain is telling you you are angry. I am feeling worried when I don't know what I should be worried about. It’s only you and me feeling this. Now that I think about it, I've noticed it for sometime but never really gave it much notice till now. But recently I've notice stronger emotions that have not made complete sense to me."

"I...I guess. I mean I might have noticed it too, but I'm not sure. Not until you just pointed it out. I was confused about why I felt...guilty and sadness bordering on grief." Danny said as he worked through his thoughts and how valid this all could be. Stiles still wasn't sure, but maybe this was true. The question was how?

"Yeah well, I don’t want to get into that now,"  Stiles said quietly as he rubbed Luna's back as she continued to look between the two, expecting a treat soon probably. "But Hale and I, well he knows the truth now, and it just...He doesn't trust me and I...I can’t trust him."

Danny looked at him sharply, "But I thought-"

"This isn’t a story," Stiles said quickly. "I won't deny, I did hope Hale would see the truth and then things would be fine, but I didn’t think about how messed up things had been even before that night. Now, I think it’s best to stay this way."

"Stiles you don’t want that. I know you don’t," Danny said earnestly.

He was right. Danny was getting good at reading what Stiles was not saying. Of course the added bonus of sensing his strongest emotions now might be helping, but this was all new to them both, so they would have to test it. Danny was right to say that Stiles wished for things to be different. Stiles wished for many things. Things he knew very well he couldn't have, but it didn't stop him from wishing. He just had to live with that.

"Maybe not now. But I will. Peter was right in saying I've been selfish and irresponsible. I made a mess of things and the Alphas are not done here yet. I might have just created another problem for Beacon Hills. I hope that the universe once again proves me wrong, but I cannot change the past."

"So what about the pack," Danny asked. "Now that they know, what now?"

Stiles shrugged. "Nothing changes. I'm not going to expect things to go back to what they were, nor do I want them to. So much has happened that...it just, no longer feels the same."

"Yet you want it to," Danny said confidently.

Just then his dad came home, saving Stiles from more of this conversation, making both boys look up from the table as he pulled his belt and holster off and put it on the rack, then headed towards them, barely making eye contact as he grabbed a glass and the bottle of whiskey he had been saving for New Year's. Stiles watched in surprise along with Danny as Noah poured a glass and took a sip, settling heavily into the seat opposite them both. his eyebrows were creased together, worry lines on his forehead, eyes, and then edge of his mouth, which was set in a frown.

Stiles immediately sat up straighter, already sensing the stress and tension from his father. His dad hardly ever drank, next to swore it off after his mom died and Stiles nearly got hurt because he was trying to cook dinner for them both when Noah was passed out on the couch, empty bottle in his hand. From that day on, he rarely drank and when he did it was little and only when he was seriously stressed or something was wrong. Neither boded well for the man.

"Um..." Stiles said, giving Danny a quick glance who could no doubt feel his anxiousness. "Dad, what's wrong?" Noah barely looked met his son's eyes as he looked up. He didn't need to when Stiles could see his eyes go darker and he inhaled a shaky breath. When his dad didn't answer for a few moments, Stiles' knee was bouncing so much, that Danny had to hold it down from slamming the underside of the table. "Dad," he tried again.

"I'm sorry," his dad said like he was just brought out of a trance. "I don't..um..I didn't want to scare you."

"Well the number of things going through my head now are no better," Stiles retorted.

Noah winced at that, but took another sip of his glass. "Um...you know Heather right? Heather Morris?"

Stiles felt his anxiety spike, his magic rolling around inside him at his nerves and fear. It prickled at his skin, looking for a way out, an exit point to rally around Stiles' emotions. He saw Danny's head turn to look at him, obviously questioning, but still saying nothing. Swallowing around a hard lump in his throat, he nodded at his dad. "I'm sorry Stiles. She was found last night, in the woods. She...she's dead." 

"What," he whispered. That can't be right. He talked to her yesterday before her party. She was alive. No, no this couldn't be right. "Are you sure? I mean, it could have been, I don't know, anyone. I mean are you really sure it was her?"

Noah looked at Stiles' eyes, his own tired and serious gaze meeting his solemnly as he nodded.

Stiles leaned back in his chair, the cold feeling of dread covering him like a sheet. His magic responding to it by prickling even more at his skin, like a thousand warm pokes before slowly forming itself into a ball in his chest. Danny was bewildered by who they were referring to, but he understood was 'found dead' meant.

Saving Stiles from asking, since they all knew how insatiable his curiosity was, Danny asked, "What happened?"

Noah took a deep breathe before answering. "She was found in the woods, near one of the trails, closer to her house. She was having a birthday party at her house when she disappeared. Statements from her friends say that no one had seen her for a while."

"No one thought to look for her earlier," Danny questioned, looking offended on Heather's part.

"She was reported missing when the party went on longer than planned. Her parents came home, expecting the party to end around 11:30, but then not finding her. An official report couldn't be filed since not enough time had passed before her last appearance, but a couple patrols were still put out for her earlier this morning. One of our dog units found her a little after dawn."

"I talked to her, yesterday before the party," Stiles said, not looking up from the table.

"I'm so sorry son," he said, leaning forward on the table to clutch at Stiles' hand. Stiles unconsciously squeezed back. His mind was buzzing. All he could picture was Heather's face. He hadn't seen her quite some time, but they still kept in touch weekly. Going to a prep school a county over, it made them drift apart, but their early days was hard to forget. Heather was one of Stiles' first friends. How could this happen? How _did_ it happen?

Scratching his hand through his hair, he inhaled before speaking, "Any leads? Anything to go on?"

Noah shook his head, his eyes now going hard at where Stiles' questions were leading. Noah knew his son well enough to know where he was going to take this. "Still under investigation. Her family has asked for privacy. Stiles, I know she was your friend, but this is an official case and police business. That means stay out of it. Is that clear?"

"But dad-"

"No period." The man said taking his hand back and pointing at Stiles for emphasis like he was a toddler again. His mouth was a thin line as he sternly looked at him. "I will not have you snooping around where you are not supposed to be."

Before Stiles could say anything, the radio on his dad's shirt went off, static followed by a voice. He felt like he should recognize the voice, but it was too jumbled with static to make it out completely.

"In 10-67 on South Bantam Rd., requesting back up, repeat 10-67 on South Bantam Rd."

Stiles gasped, raising his head quickly, his eyes going wider. "Another body?"

"I'm going into my office for a bit before I go to bed. I suggest you both work on your homework," his dad said getting up from the chair to head towards the other side of the house where his office was.

"Dad I can...my magic-"

"No Stiles," he said turning around with a sharp glare, silencing his son's request. "I’m not kidding. I mean it, stay out of this and do what a teenager actually does. This is not magical, this is life. The dark side of it, so just please do what I ask."

With that he left the two boys alone. Stiles slumping in his chair, Danny not really knowing what to do in this situation. He had never witnessed this kind of interaction between Stiles and his dad, but he no doubt suspected it was not the first time Stiles' desire to find answers and solve problems got in the way. Stiles knew that his dad wanted him to forget about this. Wanted him to live like a kid, but he couldn't. Stiles hasn't lived like a carefree kid in a long time. He couldn't even remember what that luxury was like. A part of him grieved at the loss, while another shook it off like it didn't matter. There were other things that mattered.

He was still whirring from the knowledge that Heather was dead. Yet one more person he has lost. He wanted to know more, but he didn't want to anger his dad. He still hadn't been able to ask if his dad thought it was supernatural. What if it was? His dad did say it wasn't and that it was just life, but magic is life. Stiles' life is magic, in all aspects. Magic runs everywhere. Hell he is part magic in a way. Isn't he?

Danny shifted in his seat, looking at him quizzically. "You are not going to stay out of this are you?"

Stiles shook his head. "As much as I hate to disappointment my dad again, I can't. She was my friend. I've known her for a long time. I just...I just want to know what happened?"

Danny stared at him for a moment, assessing if Stiles was thinking clearly or if he could talk him out of this. Eventually he sighed and nodded. "What are you going to do?"

"What I do best," Stiles said with a ghost of a smile. "Research. I won't get in my dad's way. Not this time, unless I have to, but I want to know if this was supernatural or not."

"Your dad said it wasn't," Danny interjected as Stiles rose from his seat to rinse out his coffee cup in the sink.

Stiles shrugged. "My dad will say anything to get me away from his cases," he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with aiding you in breaking the law," Danny said with mock seriousness.

"As opposed to you breaking the law by hacking into the FBI database," Stiles asked turning around.

"One time, one time and no one lets me live that down," Danny muttered.

Stiles chuckled, but it fell when he said, "For now, I'll wait to see what happens in the next few days. If this is a case, then I may hear a few things. And" he said stretching out the word, "you might find a few things in the Sheriff's department database and coroner report."

"Now, I'm your accomplice?"

Stiles grinned, squatting next to Danny, "Come on. Don't leave a your bond-pal hanging."

Danny gave him an annoyed expression but ultimately caved. "You're a horrible person."

"I know, but you love me anyway."

Danny rolled his eyes, but chuckled at him. That day, they spent the time doing their homework as requested by his dad. If it meant Stiles could prevent his dad from getting suspicious of him, then that was a bonus. Stiles was feeling better by the end of the day, laughing, joking, and studying with Danny. It made the pain of losing Heather and knowing what Derek really thought of him fall back a little further in his mind.

*** * * * * * ***

Turns out the next few days tested Stiles' emotions. Apparently his request to Derek was taken seriously. So serious that none of the pack, aside from Lydia were saying anything to him. It wasn't much of a difference from the summer, but this was different. Stiles could feel the confusion, the sadness, the shame and guilt from them. He may not have a link with them like he does with Danny, but it wasn't hard to guess it by the looks on their faces. Isaac looked more like a puppy anytime he caught Stiles' eyes, always looking away quickly like he did something wrong. Jackson, ironically, regarded him with a subdued expression. It almost made Stiles think he too was showing sorrow. The jock hadn't made a single retort to him since they came back over from the weekend, now it being a Wednesday, he still hadn't said his usual taunts and jabs. Erica and Boyd came back on to school on Tuesday, making them the talk of the school for a couple hours, but then like always the gossip died and people just stopped caring when no one had answers or when rumors got too stupid. Even the teachers barely batted an eye.

The first time they saw Stiles, he was at the end of a hallway heading towards his class. When he happened to look up there they were, staring at him with wide eyes, mouths open. Erica was barely holding back the water in her eyes and Boyd looked both sullen and constipated at the same time. It nearly mirrored Derek's image when the man was experiencing emotion that wasn't anger or annoyance. He nearly tripped over his own feet at the sight of them. He almost expected them to charge at him, glowing eyes and all. But there was nothing. They just stared, frozen as he forced himself to move, towards his class, which was thankfully just shy of the row of lockers where they were standing. He could feel his heart beating so loud in his ears, he no doubt knew they heard it. There was nothing he could do about that now. If his breathing was a little breathless and his magic was rolling from one side of his body to the next in his anxiety, then only he took notice. Danny eyed him in class, sensing his unease, silently aligning his elbow to his, providing a steady contact to focus on instead. As odd as it was to have this kind of connection with someone else, he was thankful for it in times like this. When he felt like he was going to burst apart. He was biting his bottom lip nearly raw, but otherwise no one knew about his emotions but Danny.

Lydia obviously knew everything, so she said nothing. Only telling him that Derek asked the pack to leave the subject alone. Much to Scott's dismay of course, but everyone seemed to be holding to that request, something Stiles was also thankful for. He didn't know why Derek would do that, especially when he came over asking for answers, asking why he never spoke a word of that night. Stiles couldn't gaige anything Derek was thinking anymore. He liked to believe it was because the man felt guilty or upset about how that night went, about what he had missed, but Stiles wasn't so sure. Not after Derek's confession. That was a subject Stiles chose to not revisit.

Scott on the other hand, well after he tried to approach Stiles Monday morning, Stiles completely avoided him. One look from Scott was enough to nearly make Stiles want to punch him stupid. Scott looked both disappointed and sad. When he came up to him, Stiles immediately knew he was about to ask. Stiles ignored him, walking in the other direction, blending quickly into the crowd of students. He used a bit of his magic to make Scott stumble a little, making it seem like he was slipping on the floor, but it was the only way he could get away.

At lunch, he avoided everyone. He sat outside in the courtyard, not bothering to eat anything. He wasn't worried about Lydia or Danny saying something wrong. It was the others, especially Scott. Isaac would be too scared to ask, mostly out of fear and knowing what it's like to be abused and not wanting to talk about it. Jackson, Stiles avoided just out of habit along with Scott. Even Allison he avoided. One look from the girl was enough for him to keep away from her. She was sad and guilt-ridden, but that in no way made it up to Stiles. If she bothered to talk to him, if she bothered to care beyond her own familial problems, then maybe Stiles would allow her a few words. In his last training session with Chris, which was that Wednesday morning, he didn't say anything about what his daughter found out. It wouldn't surprise Stiles if she said nothing at all.

At lunch that Wednesday afternoon, he was taking in the sounds of nature around him. The birds singing, the breeze, the warmth of the sun, a small sense of quiet, even with a few students out there with him. He was sitting at his bench, head bent towards his lunch that he wasn't eating when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eyes. On both sides of him, two figures sat beside him. He didn't have to look up to know who they were. He could feel it with his magic, the sassy charisma that was Erica and the calm strength from Boyd. Stiles fought the urge to shrink beside them. He fought the urge to plead to them, to say everything he wished he knew how. No one said a word for a long while.

When Stiles felt like he was nearly shaking, Erica reached out slowly with her left hand, curling her fingers into his hand. Stiles looked at their joined hands in shock, not knowing what to do or say, not expecting this at all. He felt warm in his other hand at his side, looking down to find Boyd's holding onto him. Even still nobody spoke. He was to stunned to form anything coherent. He could hear his heart in his ears and his breathing quicken. Simultaneously, Erica and Boyd squeeze his hands gently.

It was enough. It was just enough to make his tears come. Here they were, providing support to him. Here they were, the two people Stiles felt like he let down, holding his hands in silent strength. He was baffled by it, but he didn't shun it. As his tears fell, they all looked straight ahead, not publicly acknowledging anything. After a few moments, Erica put her head on his shoulder, if he felt a couple drops fall onto his sleeve from her, he didn't point it out. Never did he think this would happen. He hoped it would be okay, but his doubts always took over. Now here he was, being comforted by the two people he had worked so hard to find. No matter his fears, they were here, saying it was okay. After the nightmare that was Gerard and his hunters, witnessing the cruelty and sick malice towards each of them, here they were, alive, breathing, and together. A gesture is worth a thousand words and that was most certainly true. Stiles squeezed their hands back, getting his emotions under control. It took the rest of lunch for them to move, to finally be able to release each other.

When the bell rang, they broke apart. Stiles gathered his things, before hesitantly looking at the betas. They each gave him a small smile, Erica giving him a hug, while Boyd gave his shoulder a squeeze, which technically equaled a hug in Boyd speech. When they departed, Stiles got a text from Erica, somehow, still having the same number even after all these months.

**Erica: [12:55] Thanks 4 coming 4 us Batman. We'll talk soon. :)**

Stiles walked through the halls feel lighter than he had in weeks. Or course he should have known it wouldn't last. Nothing ever does in Beacon Hills.

"Hey Ms. Blake," he said entering his chemistry class and not seeing his least favorite teacher. He wasn't upset about by any means, but it was a pleasant surprise considering the man made it his life's work to crush any kid's hopes, dreams, and all around happy life. The young woman in front of him smiled. Stiles a swivel inside him from his magic, then flaring up. A pain behind his eyes made him squeeze them shut, a flash of white eyes, followed by a tree dripping blood, red eyes and something strange like a...symbol. As quick as it came, the images were gone, leaving him standing there, rubbing his temple, with Ms. Blake looking at him with worry.

"You okay, Stiles," she asked.

Slowly, Stiles nodded, not knowing what else to do. He didn't know what that was, but it wasn't the first time it happened. It was like the Nemeton. Only this time, there was no tree that he was touching. This came out of nowhere. That is the second time it was happened after the Nemeton, with some of the same images. What did it mean? Was it something his magic was telling him, or was it just his imagination running wild?

"Yeah, um..I just have a little headache." She looked unsure about his excuse, but he went on with, "Where Mr. Harris?"

"Well it's nice to know you are feeling better since you missed Friday," she said with a sweet smile. "Mr. Harris is mis-, on vacation. He won’t be back for a little while. Saved up a bit of vacation days and decided it was time to spend a few of them."

Stiles would have move on and be happy with Mr. Harris not at school for the day, but that was only if he wasn't the son of the Sheriff. He noticed the slip up. When he just looked at her, forcing complete curiosity and neutrality, she smiled at him and shrugged. For whatever reason, he wasn't comforted by her easy going attitude. Instead he was thinking about what she didn't say. There was something going on, something that explained why his least favorite teacher was missing the first day of school in the entire high school life Stiles has known the man. It was...unnatural in a way. He couldn't explain it, but he felt uneasy. Given the images he saw, maybe his magic was feeling the same thing. If only he knew what it all meant.

"Oh. Well cool," he said with a smile that he forced to make genuine. He took his seat and found the class dragging on after that. It did little for his unease. Even looking at the treeline through the window, watching a sun shine and bring it to life with rustling leaves, little bugs in the air, and the birds flying to and fro, did nothing to dissipate the chill running up and down his spine. His head was still hurting and the ache behind his eyes was like a constant pressure. His gut feeling more and more heavy, like a dead weight sitting right in the center the longer he got lost in his thoughts.

Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling of missing something.

 


	24. Disappointing Alpha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I'm back. Happy Holidays everyone! Hope your New Year is starting off great. Sorry it's been a while, but the holidays had me tied up with little internet connection, but here it is and back with feels. As always thank you for the love and support and I dedicate this chapter to those who have stuck with me all this time. This is the beginning of what you all want. More to come soon! Ta!

Stiles didn’t mean for it to happen. Why must his life be such...chaos?

He was already out in the Preserve, checking his wards, alone since Danny was doing something with Lydia for a while. When Stiles asked, Danny just said it was a project for their AP chemistry class. At which point Stiles let it go. After the whole Mr. Harris thing, he didn't want to think of chemistry.

Stiles stilled remembered the night his dad came home to tell him the news. Mr. Harris' body was found in the woods with another body, this one younger. Stiles believed his dad mentioned the boy's name was Kyle. He was older so Stiles didn't know him. Apparently Danny did and he was a mess for a whole day, upset and barely speaking. His eyes blank in class as he got lost in his head. Stiles could relate. The thoughts of bot their deaths being the same M.O of the others, that there serial killer-yes folk serial killer, what else would you call it-had struck again. It was no secret that Mr. Harris was not a liked man, but Stiles didn't wish this on him. For three days the man wasn't in class and Ms. Blake had taken over for him, but something just didn't sit right with Stiles. It was that night his dad broke the news that Stiles realized why. Mr. Harris was dead and yet another body was added to the growing pile. It made no sense.

The more he thought about it, the more unsettled he became. He became even more disturbed in his chemistry class. Used to be a class he dread because of his teacher, now he felt almost repelled by it. Ms. Blake seemed to take it in stride, focus on one AP English class and then chemistry the rest of the day. She was a natural, Stiles would give her that. But there was something else, something that made his stomach drop and his hairs stand up on end. He remembered what she said that day. _'Mr. Harris is mis-on vacation.'_

That was before his body was found. It was too much of a coincidence right? Did she know? Did she know what happened? Was she the killer? She was new to the town, new to the school. The murders started happening around the time she supposedly came here. She was well liked, no one would suspect her. But that is the thing, no one did suspect her and yet, Stiles couldn't shake those words. She could be the killer or should couldn't. Maybe she saw something suspicious, something that frightened her speechless. Maybe she was as afraid as everyone else and wanted to stay alive by keeping her mouth shut. There were so many what ifs and possibilities that Stiles' head was hurting during every chemistry class since that day, which thankfully was only two. Danny had no clue what to think and right now Stiles didn't want to push him since he seemed to know that Kyle kid too. His service was in another day so he knew how Danny was feeling. So that was how he found himself in the woods, looking at the triskelion symbol he engraved and embossed with his magic into a few trees surrounding the town. The very soft, constant hum in his mind from each ward being his only company. He wanted some peace, time to himself to collect his thoughts.

That was until he heard a rumbling. It was similar to a growl, but it sounded off to him. He was passing near a small lake, natural in its making, one of the many water sources in the Preserve that saw very little to no human interruption. Imagine his surprise at what he saw when coming upon the sound at the edge of the small body of water. Thankfully he had at least Kyram’s dagger notched behind his back underneath his shirt. Apparently, this time around, it wasn’t a Harpy or Elves, nor Wraiths. No this time it was a Selkie or rather Selkies.

Surprisingly they looked similar to the picture in his mothers Grimoire. They were human-like in appearance, but their skin was grayish, shimmery with slight black spots on on various parts of their bodies. Their faces were droopy and rather reminiscent of well, of Droopy from Tom and Jerry, minus the ears. Their eyes were completely black, like obsidian orbs shining in the late afternoon light. They had sharp claws on their web-fingers, and their skin was thick. Like blubber thick. Huh guess Seal folk makes sense after all. They weren't alone though. They three were toying with another figure, one that was both beautiful and wild.

The figure was smaller, shorter than Stiles was and Stiles got the spark of thought that she was a Nymph. It was a female since he learned that all Nymphs were female by origin. She had bluish green skin color or rather scales. Lightly iridescent in the evening light. They shimmered as she moved, covering her entire body. She had the body of a woman, but it ended there. She had no hair, but her head was adorned with green moss, kelp and a small ringlet of twigs and wild flowers. Her eyes were blue like her skin, her teeth slightly pointed but no where near as sharp looking as a werewolves or the Selkies’. Her hands were webbed as well, but were not clawed, at least not that Stiles could see. Her feet were human looking, covered in the fine scales like the rest of her. She had some spots where moss and algae cling to her body, like on one hip and down the calf of her left leg, over her shoulder, possibly growing from her, but Stiles wasn’t sure. She was the epitome of the lake she resided in, the one she looked after.

There was no mistaking the hungered, dark looks the Selkies' were using towards her. She was trying to get back into the lake, but they stopped her. Swiping at her with their claws, nicking her scales, drawing forth light green blood-which ew-but she didn't scream. She snarled back at them, kicking out at them, ducking and swerving to get away from them as they circled her. Stiles didn't think as he moved. He had gotten their attention, much to the Nymph's surprise and the Selkies' annoyance, he tried to get them to leave, that they were not welcome here and should leave the Nymph's home alone. The Selkies' didn’t say anything, but simply went onto attack mode, letting out a guttural grunt and then barreled toward him swiping at the air. They were not very fast, but they were resilient. 

Three against one really wasn’t fair, but Stiles could handle his own. They kept coming at him on different sides, grunting and huffing in short sounds, releasing some longer notes here and there. They had an odd style to fighting, claws flying for quick jabs before they kinda backed away while another tried to get closer. All of them keeping their shoulders hunched, head down like a boxer who was protecting their head. Mostly two would come closer towards him to attack, while another would maintain their advance towards the Nymph, blocking her way back to the lake. It didn't take Stiles long to pull his dagger free to make cuts through the air. Their skins we’re so thick though. No matter how many times Stiles cut into them, it was like they didn’t notice. Or maybe they did and they just didn’t really feel it. Like seriously, when was it ever going to be easy?

He was forced to use some of his magic, forming a ball of fire in his hand before throwing it at one of them, seeing if it would work only for it not really faze them. It didn't even leave a burn and barely a scorch mark. Trying to think of what he could do he dodged and ducked their claws as they fought to tear him apart either to have for dinner along with the Nymph who was holding off another Selkie who was close to biting her arm off, or just to get him out of the way. He swiped at them with his dagger, tearing into their flesh that didn’t yield blood. They seemed to feel it a little the more he cut into them, but they were getting angrier. 

Stiles didn’t notice when he heard a growl behind him followed by a pig like grunt where he saw Peter charged into the Selkie who was teeth points away from the Nymph, her face contorted to pain as she tried to hold it's face away from her as it's claws pierced hers arms and sides. Peter had his claws out, his fangs and missing eyebrows, the whole beta form on display as he dug his claws into the Selkie, pushing it away from the Nymph, sending himself and it rolling over the ground near the water's edge. 

He was glad for the help, but it meant that now Stiles had two to look after. The momentary distraction was enough for one of the other Selkies' close enough to rake a clawed hand close, catching his side, from near his back over ribs. It stung like a bitch and it made him temporarily lose his balance from the sudden stinging impact. As he nearly fell to his knees, the other advanced, grunting as it raised it's hands towards him. Acting on instinct, he rolled, shooting another ball of flames at the creature, catching it in the face. It seemed more annoyed than hurt, but it was enough of distraction to climb to his feet, kicking out at it's legs to cause it to fall, he swerved around a clawed hand to bring his hand around in an arc with his dagger, cutting through the air and making contact with the Selkies' neck. This time, it sliced through like butter. 

The Selkie stilled so quick and Stiles watched as the head fell from the shoulders, flopping onto the ground, kicking up fine dust and dirt particles with a squelching thud as it hit the ground. Without thinking too much and taking the other's second of hesitation, he moved, using his magic to push it back, making it stumble just enough so he could slice upward in a diagonal cut, catching it from where collarbone should be to the bottom lobe of the opposite ear. It's head was still attached, but he saw the moment it went lifeless even before he saw it hit the ground. Stiles rushed to Peter who was struggling beneath the other one, it's claws in his chest, the same with Peter's in it's, snarling in each other's faces. Stiles saw the moment the creature arched it's neck downward, using it's body to get a little leverage just so it could bite Peter's shoulder.

The roar Peter let out reverberated around the trees. Stiles took that opportunity to thrust his dagger forward, aiming dead center into the Selkies' neck, the blade going straight through with minimal resistance. It spluttered against Peter's shoulders, before gurgling and grunting, then going silent. Stiles took his dagger back out in quick movement, flicking the blackish blue blood off his blade into the grass below. Peter had followed the motion with perplexed expression, but didn't say anything. Peter pushed the thing off of him, wincing as it's teeth tore just a little more over his skin. Stiles helped him stand, looking at his wounded shoulder and the claw marks in his chest. He couldn't remember if Selkies were one of the creatures that carried a venom or something, but thankfully Peter seemed to be healing almost immediately, but Stiles would feel better when he was completely healed.

"You good," Stiles asked the man.

He nodded, looking at the new corpse beside them. He then looked at the other two, taking notice of one's missing head. Stiles saw the minute twitched in his eyebrows, the slightest widening of his eyes. When the man looked back at him, his expression was a little unreadable until he gave a smirk. "You don't know how to stay out of trouble do you?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, answering in a huff. He pulled away from Peter, turning to sheath clean off his dagger in the grass, but wanting to check on the Nymph. He barely took a step when he felt a hand on his arm, gently, but firmly pulling him back around. Peter wasn't looking at his face, but downward, his expression dark. In answer, he said, "You're hurt."

Stiles looked down to find his shirt torn at the side, blood staining it a little where it clung to him. It hurt to move his side, stretch it too far, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. "I'm fine," he said with a wave of his hand, but Peter stood firm.

"You are bleeding," he said, his blue eyes hard, jaw tense.

"Have you forgotten that you are too," Stiles asked, shaking Peter's hand from his arm. Peter let go, but he didn't loosen up his stance, his eyes still on the bloodied shirt and the torn skin beneath. "I am a werewolf. I heal quickly, you are not. You shouldn't even be this far out here."

"I was checking on my wards when I heard commotion. I couldn't stand by and do nothing to help." Stiles said as he knelt down to wipe of his blade, before stuffing it back into his holster, something Peter arched an eyebrow at.

He gestured a little towards the blade, his eyes strangely worried. "Where did you get that," he asked.

Stiles didn't have the time or patience to tell Peter the story. That would lead to more questions and therefore more stories about what all has happened over the summer and Stiles was not ready to be story teller.

"Chris Argent loaned it to me,” Stiles said calmly. It might not have been the best answer but at least he knew borrowing his time spent with Chris would prove useful for an excuse.

"Argent,” Peter asked in both surprise and anger.

"Would you prefer I had no weapon,” Stiles asked in deflection. Hoping it would cause Peter to think about what just happened and where they both might be if Stiles didn’t have something to help them with. 

Peter huffed. “You have magic.”

Stiles nodded, “Something I didn’t have months ago, which is why I am still practicing.”

Peter’s eyes went cloudy after that. Glazed over as if he wasn’t looking far away. His face went soft and still, posture no longer tense. Instead it was something else. Stiles has never seen Peter look like that before. It was an odd sight but not off putting. 

When Stiles turned back to look for the Nymph, she was gone. He looked towards the lake, but saw nothing. The murky depths cast in shadow and bits of light from the sun. She was long gone and Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to blame her. He did his due diligence for the day and it cost him a perfectly good shirt. With nothing left to do, he started to track back to his house. Peter followed, about two steps behind him, remaining quiet. Stiles should have felt nervous that Peter was so silent, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was still bleeding and each minor twist of his waist caused his side to pull and his mouth to turn into a wince. He kept going though, holding his side just w little, mostly pulling his shirt away so that it wouldn’t chaff him more. Peter seemed to notice and reached out to momentarily pull his pain away. 

Stiles saw as quick black lines flowed up Peter’s hand and arm. It made the sting of walking bearable again and he couldn’t help the small smile of thanks towards the man. It was a strange, somewhat surreal sight to see Peter Hale, psychotic extraordinaire, show concern and attention to him. What has his life become?

"Stiles, I wanted to apologize." Peter said rather conversationally.

"For what," he asked still walking carefully to not hurt himself further. "You didn't do this."

"Not this," Peter said, with a frown as he looked at Stiles' side. His shirt had blood on it that was slowly drying, but even Peter can tell it wasn't a bad wound. It was more of a nuisance than anything else. “I wanted to apologize for what I said to you the other night. I said some things that were out of line. I didn’t _know_ you were...”

"Really-"

"No it’s not fine or okay. You didn’t deserve that.”

Stiles didn’t want to have this conversation again, but then he was curious to where it would go. He hasn’t spoken to any of the pack since they all found out about Gerard. He hasn’t thought they would come breaking down his door but it never happened. Instead he got distance, which is what he wanted. Aside from Erica and Boyd at school, who sat with him and Danny at lunch the past few days, no one saying anything, but finding they didn’t really need to. Not yet.

The others were different. Isaac looked lost, Jackson was avoiding him-not that Stiles cared-and Scott, Scott kept eyeing him with a mixture of emotions. Disappointment, sadness, confusion, hurt, and anger. Stiles had put even more effort to avoid the other boy, even using his magic at school to mask his presence when he knew Scott was close. It became such a regular thing that Stiles was becoming accustomed to using his magic to hide his scent and heartbeat daily. Maybe he was being cowardly, he just didn't want to deal with it all. With Peter being here, he was the first to bring up that night. Although he wasn’t surprised about _what_ he was bringing up first. Peter was not one to apologize for his views nor his positions on things. Yet here he was saying he was sorry for what he said to Stiles.

"After everything you have done for the pack," Peter continued his face stilted and eyes concerned, "after what happened, it is we who should be saying sorry. What happened between you and Derek was a misunderstanding that borders on many things, mostly on Derek’s demons, but never should they have gotten in the way of your well-being. I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry that you had to go through all of that. Gerard’s power trip and prejudices have always been a driving point for him, but I never thought he would go so far and with a human child. After the hand he had in my family, in the...," he stopped just to gather a deep breath, his jaw twitching, his fingers flexing, "I should have known," he finished.

"It is not your fault," Stiles said, not understanding why he had the need to console Peter when they were talking about _his_ trauma.

Peter gave him a dark look, stopping mid stride to level him with it. "No it is his. The hunters. But it is also ours for leaving you alone. Vulnerable."

Stiles could feel where this was going and he wanted to put a stop to it completely before he heard the slightest hint of the words pass Peter's lips. "I am not weak, Peter. I can take care of myself. I am no damsel in distress damn what you or the others think."

Peter's eyebrows rose partly up his forehead, a small pleased smile on his lips as his eyes flashed to the Stiles' lower back, no doubt thinking about the dagger he just used to not only kill three Selkies' with, but also save both the Nymph and Peter. Peter knew about his magic, but he didn't know everything. He didn't know about what all Stiles has learned and been up to over the summer. He didn't know what Stiles has truly gone through, alone, without the aid of the pack. He only had Danny and occasionally his father and Deaton, but mostly it was just him. He learned what his mind and instincts were telling him when it mattered and his magic was no different. He was still learning, but he was far from what they still seemed to make him out to be. To them, he was a victim, the weak link, the one that _happened_ to survive.

How wrong they were. Peter was beginning to see just how changed Stiles really was.

  *** * * * * * ***

"What the hell are you doing," Cora asked coming down the stairs, looking rather pissed.

Derek was sitting on his couch, legs up reading a book on historic myths and legends from different era and locations in Asia. It was nothing special just something to pass the time with. Not that he was reading much of it anyway. It was just a book Lydia had gotten once as a possible research source, but the validity of it was something to be questioned. Still, it was interesting to learn about the different tales and stories about the creatures that may or may not be real and they just never came across. The world was a big place and Derek had not seen nearly enough between here and New York when he was there with Laura.

Still he wasn't reading much of it. His thoughts were jumbled and distracting. He kept thinking of the woman with dark hair, creamy skin, a soft, nervous smile and kind eyes. After the night at the vault and saving his sister, Derek had to work through a few things. Piece together his thoughts on what was more important. Aside from the blind sided information about Stiles and his kidnapping by Gerard, the next biggest issue was the teacher from the school, the one he saved from his fevered sister, who had witnessed more of the supernatural aspects that most humans never should know about. As troubled as he was about Stiles and Gerard, even more so after his visit, Derek couldn't solve everything.

He felt sick after what Stiles told him. After seeing the scar, stretching across Stiles' side and midsection, he felt like he couldn't get in enough air. The plain hurt, anger, and blatant disappointment in the boy's eyes kept circling in his head, haunting him. The thought of Stiles being hurt, tortured, and cut open by that man made Derek's skin crawl, his wolf snarl, and his stomach turn into knots that tightened the longer he thought about it. Never did he imagine Stiles would be in such a situation, never did he think Stiles would be a target like that. He had to see for himself after Erica's pleading and Boyd's sad confirmation. No amount of arguing with Scott or his betas on what anyone knew would suffice until he saw or heard the truth from the source. He got more than he bargained for. He got both confirmation and proof. He couldn't unsee it.

Derek felt a cold sense of dread when all the information circled in his mind. Stiles not knowing the truth behind Scott's working with Gerard, Stiles being held and tortured by said man, barely escaping just to bring Lydia to save Jackson, all to be pushed aside and blamed by Derek. His anger and fear battling his senses and making him not see what was right in front of him. Derek had no excuse. He didn't. Yet there was no other explanation. He didn't trust Stiles, not really, he was getting there up until that night when he thought Stiles betrayed him, betrayed the meaning of the bite, betrayed the feelings Derek had about the Argent's all for the sake of saving the day. He didn't trust him then, but he was believing that maybe he would with just a little more time. It wasn't Stiles that shot that in back, it was Derek himself.

He inwardly cursed himself until his heart was beating hard and he was close to losing his control later that night. Then he fucked up even more by stating the worst of his fears. The reason he didn't trust Stiles, didn't want to rely on his help. The boy had a way of seeing him better than anyone. Looking inside to see what he was reluctant to show. It made Derek itch at the attention and thrusted him back to being a teenager. Back when one other person could see it and used it to her advantage. Then he was uneducated and naive. Settling on any form of comfort and acceptance and understanding than actually putting thought into his actions. He was betrayed for it, his emotions being the baseline, the gateway for the nightmare to take shape. The first person to see him, see what he was hiding then was the one who lied, manipulated, and spoke soft, false promises and silvery words in his ears, just to take away his life.

It was wrong, so incredibly wrong to compare Stiles to her. To Kate. But Derek's irrational fears, insecurities, and guilt, couldn't make that distinction. Not until it was already too late. Derek doesn't trust anyone, _himself_ least of all.

It was his guilt and thinking of his fears that brought him back to the woman. Jennifer. Jennifer Blake, the woman had called herself when he surprised her at her classroom earlier the day before. She was scared to see him, reaching for a pointer stick to hold it protectively, something that surprised him. Normally people would try and run not protect themselves first unless provoked. The way her hands tightened and her jaw set, the uncertainty underneath the fear, it was rather cute to say the least. He had made it clear that he was there for her assurance of not saying anything about them, of keeping what she saw quiet. He measured her heartbeat which was a little fast, but steady as she said she wouldn't mention it. Derek didn't know what propelled him to do it, but somehow he had reached out his hand to her, a silent gesture of meaning no harm as well as greeting. 

"I'm Derek," he said, his wolf growling at his lack of keeping mouth shut. He didn't much understand it, but this woman, was rather intriguing to him. Trapped in a room with a werewolf and despite the pointer still in her hands, she still didn't flee. She didn't shake in fear or cower from his hand. She eyed it calmly before slowly, putting her hand in his, shaking it gently. Her skin warm and soft in his palm.

"Jennifer Blake," she said. He watched as small amount of color touched her cheeks and neck, something that his eyes tracked and held, only for him to feel his mouth go dry at.

After some minor, but pleasant small talk, he made sure to drive the point home again to not say anything. She nodded, giving a shy smile, before the bell rung, signaling the start of school. Derek excused himself, walking down the hall, stuffing his hands in his jacket, still feeling the tingling warmth on his hand, seeing her smile and bright eyes in his mind, and feeling his wolf whine inside him, but all he still saw was her face.

That was a common occurrence in his mind over the next two days. The teacher's soft features residing in his head, no matter what he was doing. He had to admit she was beautiful and she was rather surprising to him. He could still faintly smell her perfume, sweet and a little floral in his nostrils and feel the smoothness of her hand in his. It was eerie and yet a welcoming distraction from the rest of his mind. Otherwise he would be thinking about the murderous Alphas and the unresolved tension and issues he had with a boy he couldn't begin to seem to understand nor know about what to do about him. The book he was reading was meant to be a distraction, but his mind seemed to prove to have other ideas without his consent, at least until Cora made herself known.

"What are you talking about," he asked barely looking up at her.

"I'm talking about you," she said coming fully to stand before him, hands on her hips. She was wearing work out gear, not surprising since Derek had been hearing her do some kind of activities in her room the past half hour. Her hair was up in a ponytail, a small sheen of sweat on her brow, eyes fixated on him and rather angry. Derek felt a pang in his chest at thinking he would never see his baby sister annoyed or angry with him again, but now finding that he didn't really miss it that much when he was experiencing it. "What are you playing at?"

"I don't know what you mean," he said turning to go back to reading, yet she did not move. She came to step closer, the air of disapproval, crossing her arms, looking similar to how their mother did when he was in trouble. "Let me put it in small words for you. You are doing a really fucked up job of being an Alpha.”

That got his attention. His Alpha hackles being a little ruffled at the disrespect, but it was nothing he wasn't used to. ”Excuse me?"

”You heard me," she sneered at him. "I have been here only for a few days and I come to find all of this." She gestured with her hands, most likely referring to everything. It didn't take a genius to know she meant the pack, Derek included. "Drama and petulance. Are we even going to talk about what to do about the Alpha pack? Have you even thought about it?”

In truth, Derek hadn't thought much of it recently. He was surprised they haven't made themselves known, especially after they had rescued his betas and his sister. There was no notice of them around, no threats or attacks. It was meant to be unnerving, but Derek had been distracted. First wallowing in his own self hatred and then thinking of brunette woman he just met. He was the Alpha and yet it was clear that he wasn't acting like one. Was his sister the only who noticed or cared, or was she the only one with the backbone to call him out on it?

”I am aware of the threat.”

"Obviously not since you ain’t doing anything about it.” She said as she started to turn away, just to fall forward onto the floor, catching herself with her hands and proceeding to do push ups. It sent Derek back to his numerous times of push ups at his old house in the Preserve. Fast and heavy, not much control, but anger and drive showing through in the movements. He could see her arms shaking a little. Her energy still not completely restored from the full moon rush. It had been four days and Deaton was right in saying she would feel drowsy and sluggish the first few. Derek didn’t want his sister to overdo it.

"What are you doing,” he asked putting the book on the couch and standing up to hover.

She huffed at him from the ground, kicking up a small puff of dust. "Getting acquainted with the concrete seeing as how I can’t go outside.”

Derek resisted the urge to pinch the bride of his nose. "Your not a prisoner."

"Really because the constant keeping an eye on me the past few days, says otherwise. If not you then Peter."

"You are still healing from the fever, you need to rest and gain back your strength," crossing his arms as he felt he was stating the obvious.

She stopped at the top of her latest push up, not looking at him as she nearly growled out, "I've rested enough. Some of us need to train."

Derek snorted. "Yeah a push up battle will definitely make the Alphas think twice."

"It more than what you are doing. You or anyone else. If you want to present your neck to them, then feel fucking free."

Derek felt his eyes flash before he stepped up further and brushed his foot through Cora’s bent arm, swiping her hand off the floor. Making her fall on her face. He nearly chuckled at the 'oof' she made, but she arched her neck to look at him with a striking glare. She was not amused. She got up and made to hit him. He was an Alpha and faster so he quickly brushed her arm away with ease. She tried again to no avail. This frustrated her even more. After her third try she growled, baring a hint of her fangs starting to poke through.

“Fight back,” she yelled. “What is wrong with you?”

"What would this prove," he asked calmly, more curious than hurt at her anger.

"It will prove that you need to get your head out of your ass," she spat as she tried to swing at him again only to have her arm brushed off and her shoulder pushed away, nearly knocking her off balance. "A threat is on your door step and you are practically handing them the keys.”

Derek watched as she stepped away from him, putting a few feet of distance from each other. He tried to not feel a little hurt by her need to step away from him. "I am the Alpha. My pack and I can handle this.”

"Pack!" She said with a widen of her eyes, completely disbelieving of the word like it was never an occurrence. That surprised Derek, making him stop any retort. The full blown astound she had at what Derek had said. Followed by a look of genuine disgust and disappointment. "Is that what we are calling it? Be real Derek!"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"That this is a joke. _This isn't a pack_! It's a goddamn sandbox for teenagers to stick their heads in, to bitch and whine about the unfairness of the world! In the days I have met them all, I have seen that they fight more with each other and seem to care more about their differences than the Alpha pack still in their back yard. You have two betas who are avoiding this place even though you know they were kidnapped and held prisoner by not just the Alphas but hunters as well, a disrespectful beta who is a dick for all intents and purposes, some girl who doesn't know who to turn to, an idiot Omega who sees it fit to come and go as he pleases, another beta who is more puppy than anything, and a boy, who seems to be getting into more danger than he should, one you pushed aside out of fear and stubbornness."

At Derek’s stunned look at the mention of Stiles, Cora scoffed, shaking her head at him. “Yeah, I had a long talk with Uncle Peter yesterday."

 _Damn that man_ , he thought. "Tell me how you really feel," he said. He was being childish, he knew and so did she. His hackles were raised and the Alpha in him didn't like the flaws of his pack being brought to light. He didn't like the idea that his pack was just a figment of his wishes. According to Cora, there wasn't a pack.

"You really want to know how I feel? I feel disappointed." All Derek could do was stare, watching as his sister's eyes started to glisten. "I can't believe I got my ass thrown in a vault for three months for you. All those rumors I heard... a powerful new Alpha, one of the Hales, building a pack! Do you know how long I've waited to hear something like that? Do you have any idea how it felt to find out you were alive after all these years? Then I come to be treated like shit by my own brother, treated like nothing more than a victim and that's all. Someone that I seem to barely recognize anymore. Someone I never thought would be so...cold. Like a total stranger."

Derek felt his gut tighten, his wolf howl in sorrow and shame in his head. He didn't mean to be so distant with her. It has been four days since her recovery and he didn't know how to handle it. After so many years of thinking he didn't have a younger sister anymore, no more sibling after Laura, he didn't know how to break such a cycle. He didn't know what he should do first, ask questions and listen to her story of all these years, or hold her against him and take in her warmth and scent just to reassure himself that she was in fact alive and his mind had to catch up with that knowledge. He felt guilty for how much he has failed. It seemed to be something he was getting good at recently. Everywhere he turned he was making horrible choices, choices that came with costs. Cora was right. He didn't have a pack. Who was he kidding? He had been blind to that in his search for Erica and Boyd, but he seemed to have forgotten what he did have, not to mention that his betas left to begin with. 

He had focused more on helping them to survive rather than to accept help from the pack. He made sure they could control themselves to hide rather than made sure they felt safe, supported, or even comfortable. He turned a rag tag group of teens all for himself to feel more powerful knowing the impending doom of the Alphas coming eventually. He had hoped that all that time spent on teaching them to control their anger and healing, their shifts, finding anchors, and using their senses would have bought them enough time where he was confident when the Alphas came, but it blew up in his face just like everything did. His drive to survive, hoping to teach them the same, fueled by his own fears.

He fucked up, again, yet another choice he made that cost him. Now, months later, his long thought dead sister was seeing the chaos of it.

"I'm sorry to have failed you," he said sullenly, feeling the weight of her words as she continued to say nothing more. Her tears evident in her eyes, reflecting all the words she has said. He was a piss poor excuse for an Alpha. He was a disappointment and now his little sister was seeing it for herself.

Before either could say anything more, the loud clang of the metal door opening pulled them from their staring contest. Both had not been paying attention to their surroundings, to engrossed in their sibling argument, that they didn't notice they had company coming closer and closer to the loft over the past few moments. What they didn't expect was who it was that was opening the door. It wasn't Peter. Or Scott. It was no one from the pack. At the sight of them, Derek felt his wolf growl and sheer fear creep down his spine to settled at the front of his gut, instantly making his palms sweat.

Deucalion, the leader of the Alpha pack himself, was smirking in his doorway, waltzing in like he had all the time in the world. Flanked by him were Ennis and Kali. He knew of them well enough from the stories and tales others have told. For years the Alpha pack has made a reputation for themselves and it carried in their stances and their walks. Even in their very names. Deucalion's was the worst. The blind Alpha, being more conniving, yet vicious, and more deadly than all the others.

Upon seeing them, Cora snarled and charged, moving so quickly that Derek didn't have time to grab her, only to watch as Ennis blocked her from his leader. The bulky werewolf grabbing hold of sister's throat and throwing her to the side just to crash into the brick wall. It set Derek off, bringing his Alpha and familial instincts to the surface. He ran towards the big man only to have Kali swipe at him, claws raking down his chest. She kicked out at him with her bare, clawed floor, making him stumble back. He deftly noticed Cora getting up to throw her claws out at Ennis, nearly catching him in the face, but her easily swiped her away, wrapping his large hand around her throat again this time to lift her up and slam her down onto the concrete floor. Derek heard the rush of breath leave his sister's lungs only for her to gasp for it again, hands automatically clawing at Ennis' arm and hand to try and release her. He barely seemed to noticed. Kali advanced on him, snarling as she spun and kicked out at him. He stepped back, dodging her assault. Her sharp toenails coming very close to slicing into him at fast speeds. When he got an opening between her last spin kick he kicked out himself, sending her backwards near his kitchen area. 

Roaring at him and flashing her already red eyes, she reached up to pull free a stray pipe that was for his water heater, snapping it off with a loud metallic crack. Twirling it around quickly just to faint at him, causing him to dodge unnecessarily just for his face to meet and upward swipe from the pipe. He felt his jaw crack and the pain shoot through his head and down his neck. He fell backwards, seeing stars. He was partially aware of the growls from Cora and Ennis, and tapping of Kali's toenails on the floor, it was like he had no other perceptions until his head cleared. By then it was too late. Kali slammed the pipe down hard, sharper end first and using her strength and madness to spear it through his back and out his chest, shoving it into the floor below him.

The pain was indescribable. All at once he felt like he lost all his air while a deep cold swept into his body. Sharp pain making his limbs stagger and fall limp. He distantly heard Cora scream out his name, but it was drowned out by the sudden rush of blood in his ears. When he tried to move, he found he couldn't. Aside from the hindering pain, he was fully anchored to the floor. He supposed he should feel embarrassment at how quickly he was subdued, but the pain was blocking the rest of his rational mind. He barely noticed when a set of shoes, clean and black came into his hunched view. His eyes blurring around the edges and he tried to maintain focus. He noticed his own blood starting to pooling below him, flowing from his chest down the cold metal of the pipe to the floor. He was literally made into a shish kabob, a grueling and terrible one at that.

He felt the hand at the back of his head, fingers tightening in his hair before his head was raised up, making his body rock a little on the pipe. It made him growl in pain as he met the covered eyes of the Alpha of Alphas. Deucalion was smiling, smarmy and smooth, hunched down by him at nearly head level.

"You are right Kali, he does look like his mother," he said rather conversationally to the woman Alpha, who snorted at his comment. The man's voice smooth and gentleman like, tinged with an accent. Derek resisted the urge to growl, but found he probably couldn't at the feeling of his lungs losing air at the awkward position. "While it would be nice to stroll down memory lane, there’s other things I wish to discuss first, Alpha Hale."

He sat back a little, still not breaking his hold on Derek, nor his smile. Derek couldn't see his eyes, but he could practically feel them on his face. The taste of his blood in his mouth, bitter and metallic, feeling it run down his chin as he was forced to keep looking at the man. 

"First off, it is nice to finally meet you in person. I've heard so much about you. Mostly second hand knowledge, but I'll take what I can get. I must say, my expectations of you have been rather...well disheartened. When Derek didn't speak, his smile stretched a little. "It's okay. You are young and naive. It was bound to happen."

He heard Ennis give a snorted laugh and Kali giggled, but Deucalion let his head go. He tried to keep it up, but he could barely breathe as it was. He was losing strength and the spots in his vision was getting worse. When the older wolf spoke again, it was more of a business tone, more neutral but a hidden edge. "Secondly, where is the witch?”

Derek spluttered out blood as a response. What did he just ask? His mind was fuzzy enough, but did he actually hear him correctly? Witch? Who? The pain was eating at his body, clouding his mind. It hurt to move even a inch. It most certainty hurt to breath and it wasn't like he had the strength to lift his arms right now. They felt heavy as lead weights, even as he itched a hand closer to the pipe. Each movement shot pain through his torso. All he got was blood and spit down his throat. Sweat pooling off his brow and down his back. 

“I don’t like being kept in the dark, Derek," Deucalion spurred on. "Where is the witch?"

When he opened his mouth, he barely stopped a whine from escaping. It took a few tries before he was able to get syllables out. "Th-there...is...n-no...witch,” he growled out in gasps.

"Oh I don’t know. Seemed to be one a few nights ago, they paid us a visit. Red hoodie, brown hair. A boy nonetheless but rather...intriguing." The tone of his voice said that he found it very intriguing. In more ways than one. Derek felt his skin prickle and despite the pain, he felt the chill in his bones. It sounded, almost like-no it couldn't be him. He thought back to that night. As hard and fuzzy as his mind was, he remembered what Stiles was wearing. His red hoodie. He would know it anywhere. Was that what the Alphas thought he was?

Derek almost found it laughable. But then Stiles was a surprise. Often an enigma. He managed to escape the Alphas and maybe they thought he did it magically. The Alphas may not accept anything else. If they knew a human, a boy even, escaped them and tricked them at the same time, then it could embarrass them. Word of such could get out that maybe they were losing their edge. It would anger them. Stiles was no magical by any means, Derek would know it. They all would. He was not magical, he was just smart and resourceful, something Derek is beginning to think the Alphas may not accept.

"I must say I didn’t see that one coming," the older Alpha said, tone still civil with a hint of awe that still made Derek want to cringe. "All accounts say you don’t have anyone with magic in your pack nor an emissary. Although if you had you might not be such a disappointment.”

"Don’t..know..what-"

He felt Deucalion lift his chin up firmly with two fingers. His face closer now. Derek could feel the fan of breath on his face as the Alpha breathed. "'Don't know' what I’m talking about. That’s alright. Maybe you don’t. But your heart says otherwise. The little flutter I hear, it’s rather telling. Maybe you don’t know where the witch is, but I suspect you know who it is."

Derek fought the urge to growl. That was more telling than a slight head shake. Either option made pain flare up again in him. "There...is no witch here," he forced out in a near spat. He could still hear his sister struggling. He needed to find a way out of this. It was a surprise that they were talking about a witch, that was news to Derek. What could he possibly offer them. The fear he felt and tried to bury inside him was a hardship in and of itself. He warned Stiles about his involvement that night and look at what was happening. They had seen him and now they had this delusion that he is more than human, possibly a threat to them. They will hurt him and Derek couldn't let that happen. "Deaton-"

"Ah yes the Druid. Your mother's former emissary. He may know of the witch. While I have never liked the man, he does have a way of thinking. Maybe I’ll pay him a visit next.”

Shit this was not what he thought he would deal with today. This is not what he wanted to happen. He couldn't swallow and the blood in his mouth was making it harder. His breathing coming in pants.

The Alpha let him go to hang his head, like a sign of defeat, which Derek most likely looked the part for. It was shameful, but he couldn't give away information. He _wouldn't_ , even if it meant they killed him then and there in front of his sister. The thoughts of Stiles' face, bloody and ripped apart from claws, or his body a mangled heap of torn flesh, teeth marks, intestines and limbs pulled free of his body was enough to make him clench his jaw to prevent himself from throwing up more blood. His breathing stuttering in his chest. If he was reeking of fear, there was no way for him to hide it.

"Here’s the thing son, I like you," the man said with tired sigh, although it sounded more artificial than real. "Or rather I like your name. I do owe your mother a little debt so it’s only fair I use it to spare you. I don’t have to spare you darling sister who has been a rather thorn in my side for the past few months. I came here with the intent to get you to join me, but frankly you have been proving more of a lackluster Alpha than I care for. However I am willing to cut a deal with you."

When Derek raised his head, looking from underneath his eyelashes, the man smiled again, all teeth. "Find me the witch."

"So that we can kill him," Kali said with an approved rumble of her chest.

"Not quite," Deucalion said, his tone sounding like a parent about ready to chastise a child. Derek heard Kali growl under her breath, but otherwise said nothing. Her leader however cocked his head with twitch of his lips. Somehow it reminded Derek of a far off look, one where Deucalion was imaging something. "His talents...intrigue me, find him and bring him to me alive, and I will let you and your sister join me, _without_ killing your pack. Do this and we will all be merry.”

He leaned forward, sniffing Derek just for a second, a very wolfish grin on his face. Derek could only imagine what the man was thinking. When he stood up, his white stick clicking at his side, he gave a nod to Kali who huffed as she started to leave, her toenails clacking on the floor as she left through the exit.

"You have 2 days.” He said with finality, then he also was clicking his way out of the loft, with Ennis letting go of Cora with a snarl after he pretty much shoved her away from him, making her slide further into the middle of the room, closer to Derek. When they left, slamming the door behind them, Cora got up rushing over to Derek to cradle his face in her hands. He didn't miss the worry and tears in her eyes as his blood loss made the spots in his vision bigger and ultimately making him lose consciousness.

*** * * * * * ***

When next Derek woke, it was to a sight he didn't think he would ever see. He had been feeling cool wetness on his chest and arms for the past few moments, but didn't want to wake up enough to see if it was his mind playing tricks on him or not. He still felt in pain, tender and a deep muscle ache that seemed to radiate through his body. It still kind of hurt to breathe, but no where near as bad as it did before. When he gave a tentative swallow, he no longer had blood in his mouth, but he could still taste the left over metallic from it from before. When he heard rustling followed by muddled voices, he was going in and out of consciousness. He forced himself to open his eyes, forced them to slit open enough to start making out shapes. When his blurring vision sharpened enough, he was able to make out a body next to him. It was Stiles, sitting next to him, face stoic and expressionless, whiskey eyes keeping watch of what he was doing.

Derek could see that he was moving his hand slowly over his side, a wash cloth in hand, staining it pinkish-red. He was wiping away drying blood on his body, dunking it in a large bowl of water growing pinker by the moment. He squeezed out the residual water before continuing onto his forearm and hand. Derek found that he couldn't look away from Stiles' face. His mouth a grim line, his eyes hard and distant. If there was ever a time to wonder what Stiles was thinking it was now. Derek wondered what he was doing here. He wonder how long he was unconscious. He wondered where Cora was. Without moving his head, he flicked his eyes down to his chest where he remembered the pipe protruding through. It wasn't there now, but left behind was an angry red mark, circular and a little jagged around the edges. It wasn't a hole anymore, but rather looked like someone took a knife and cut a piece of his skin off with a serrated knife.

It was red around the area, with small tinges of pink from the smears of left over blood that Stiles must have wiped away. The wound itself looked clean and Derek could see that it was still healing. His skin was pale and a little damp, indicating that Stiles must have recently finished with the area before moving on, the light dusting of his chest hair was matted to his skin, still damp as well. He couldn't help feeling a little vulnerable in this positions, but as Stiles softly wiped at his limp hand where dried blood was caked onto his digits and staining under his fingers, he didn't have the urge to cringe away or shake Stiles' hands away from him.

The boy still hadn't noticed he was awake and Derek could see the boy was tense. Shoulders stiff, his jaw a little tight. He was kneeling beside Derek, who happened to be laying lengthwise on his couch, the bowl sitting on the coffee table behind him. He was wearing a long sleeve light gray shirt and dark track pants. He seemed paler than Derek remembered, his hair contrasting to his skin. His hair was the longest Derek had ever seen it, swept up in the front, mussed in an effortless way. Derek wondered if it was intentional. When he watched Stiles turned to squeeze out the cloth, Derek noticed a patch of red on his shirt, a large stain, with tears. It was blood and it most certainly wasn't Derek's.

"What happened," Derek asked gruffly, his voice sounding raw as he tried to sit, his eyes never leaving the stain even as Stiles turned back around, the hard expression replaced with surprise. When he moved, Derek winced, a growl bubbling up from his chest as pain graced his insides from his chest and radiating outward. Apparently he wasn't as healed as he suspected. Stiles pushed him back down onto the couch gently, but firmly, his face going back into a mask with his mouth a thin line.

"Nothing," Stiles said to him, with a put off expression, returning to what he was doing, which was still cleaning blood off Derek's skin.

Peter however took the chance to appear, coming up behind them both from probably the kitchen, with a fresh bowl of water in his hands. His own face was pale and sour, but he still answered Derek's question, "A trio of Selkies, nephew. Apparently they didn't like their evening meal being disturbed or else they wouldn't have noticed Stiles at all."

"Selkies," Derek said now more alert as he tried to sit up against, much to Stiles dismay. He didn't miss the glare he shot at Peter who just rose his eyebrows at him before rolling his eyes.

"Yes, it turns out they are real as well," Stiles said just as Peter was about to speak again. "Who knew?"

Derek didn't expect this turn of events. He had the fear that it was the Alphas that did this. The words Deucalion said to him as he was impale on the floor, lingering in his mind. He wanted to know who the witch was, he wanted the witch. There was no witch, there was just Stiles. He wants Stiles and Derek had the fear that maybe they had already found him and his bloodied shirt was a result of it. But then it wouldn't explain what he was here for, or when Peter came in, or where Cora was.

Derek shouldn't be feeling fear for Stiles, he has no right, but he couldn't help it. His fears and their past misunderstanding and grievances aside, he didn't want to see the boy hurt. Derek has screwed up enough, he didn't want Stiles to pay for it when he was just helping the pack, despite his claim of staying out of it, and the way Derek himself has treated him.

"It wasn't the Alphas," he asked as Stiles still held his forearm still, wiping the last bits of dried blood with his cloth, before taking the new bowl to wrangle out the cloth and then giving a few more clean swipes.

"No," Stiles said when he looked up, evidently confused. "Why would-"

Derek cut him off, "They were here. They were wanting to get information on you."

If it was possible, Stiles went paler. He went rigid as stone as he stared at Derek. The Alpha wasn't sure, but it almost seemed like Stiles' eye seemed to glow, suddenly seeming a shade brighter, less whiskey and more like amber. Peter too had stopped and stood still, flicking his gaze over to Stiles, his features going a full range of emotions, then settling on an expression that caught Derek off guard. It was like, fear. His uncle didn't do fear. Peter has never let fear show on his face, at least not that Derek could remember and yet he could see it now, right before his uncle schooled it back in a face of calm shock as if it never happened. Stiles remained still and unmoving in every way. The lack of movement unnerved Derek.

"What did you tell them," Peter asked rather tensely.

If Derek had the energy, he would feel insulted. Did his uncle really think so little of him? "Nothing. They wanted to know if we knew who you were. They wanted to know about the boy who deceived them, they said."

It was a lie, he knew it was. He didn't doubt his uncle knew too, but the inclination of his head when he looked at him. Derek would tell him later. Right now, he wanted Stiles safe, after his side was taken care of. He could smell the blood, it was obviously fresh, but it was drying, becoming more stale. He and Peter would talk about a way to deal with the Alphas after Stiles was gone and locked in his house. They would figure something out. Routine check ins, monitoring his house, anything. If Derek had to sleep on his roof then he would if it meant he could be an early warning to Stiles about the Alphas. It wouldn't be long before they found him.

"Well," Stiles muttered after a few moments, "seems I can't catch a break."

Peter stepped up by him, "We won't let them get near you."

It may have been more of a reassurance than truth, but Derek was still surprised by his uncle declaration to Stiles. Derek couldn't really argue with him anyway. Stiles however, seemed to scoff, before sitting back away from Derek, putting the cloth in it's bowl. He didn't say anything, but he did wince at the movement as he accidentally let his arm hit his injured side. Derek immediately felt his face turn into a scowl.

"What happened with these Selkies?"

Stiles waved his hand at him as he slowly got up, Peter nearby as he watched him carefully. "I stumbled across them near one of the small lakes in the Preserve. I heard a ruckus and thought it was a bunch of teenagers, but found three Selkies and a Nymph. She was going to be their next meal."

Despite being hurt, Derek hoisted himself up further on the couch to level Stiles with a glare. What was it with this kid and sticking his nose where it didn't belong? Derek really thought he had a death wish. Or he was a magnet for trouble and he seemed to always be getting hurt because of his recklessness. "Why didn't you call one of us? What were you even doing that far in the Preserve? What if the Alphas had found you out there today instead of coming here?”

Stiles looked at him with a bored expression, before rolling his eyes. "My business is none of your concern, Hale."

Derek was really beginning to hate his surname falling from the teen's lips. It always came out like it was a curse. "My territory is my concern." If Peter partially hid a scoff, no one paid him any attention.

"Good thing I am not property then, huh," Stiles asked his voice pitching deeper. It was not meant as a question and Stiles didn't really wait for a response. He turned around and picked up the bowls on the table. Derek caught a brief flash of something silver and leather under his shirt as it rode up a little. It looked like a knife, but that wasn't right, was it?

"You should have done nothing, should have called," Derek said, regretting it the moment the words left his lips. "We would have-"

"So you wanted me to roll over and let them eat me and the Nymph we saved." Stiles asked, his expression neutral when he turned back around, looking down at him.

"No, but you cannot charge into something when you can get killed. You are human, you are more breakable and an easier meal to them," Derek said like he was explaining it to a child, which in Stiles' case wasn't exactly far off. When would the kid think of himself?

Stiles nodded. "Well you can tell that to the now dead Selkies. I'm sure they won't respond since their throats are cut open, but you'll get a message nonetheless."

Derek and Peter were left alone as Stiles went into the kitchen. Peter stood beside the table on the opposite side, an eyebrow arched, his arms folded over his V-necked chest. Derek had the odd feeling that he was just chastised by Stiles without any actual punishment. Knowing Stiles, it was no a stretch. Stiles did what he wanted, always has. It should not come as a surprise that he wouldn't listen to Derek. He and Scott shared that trait, but for different reasons. He could guess Scott's, as for Stiles, it could be a number of them. Most likely it may be coming from how Derek has treated him and Derek could not blame him for that.

He turned to his uncle who was watching quietly, waiting, observing. "Did he-"

Peter nodded, completely serious, but with a little glint in his eye. "He did. Efficiently too, I might add."

"How would he-"

"That is something you would have to ask him," Peter said to him. "But I can vouch that that boy is not as helpless as you make him out to be."

Derek thought back to the Alphas again. Stiles managed to escape them. He's not sure how, but he did. He remembered Stiles' determination, his drive, brilliance for plans. He also remembered how he chucked Molotov cocktails at Peter when he was a murderous Alpha. He remembered as he stood by Scott and Allison when they were protecting Lydia from Derek under false suspicions that she was the kanima. He remembered Stiles refusing to run and leave Derek behind as his body was shutting down from paralysis, and then holding him up for hours in the pool. He remembered him slamming his car into the kanima just to let Lydia save him a moment later. He remembered seeing the scar from Stiles protecting his pack from Gerard, evidence of what Derek _had not known_ until it was far too late.

Derek found himself nodding, even before he registered it. Still though, was it wrong for Derek to point out Stiles' recklessness, even if he had good intentions?

Peter left, heading upstairs even as Stiles came back. The boy looked uncertain of what to do now. He stood awkwardly in the room, body aimed towards the door. Derek even caught the momentary flick of his eyes towards it. Derek didn't know what to say to him, even though there were dozens of things he knew he should say. Conversation was never a strong suite of his, but stilted silence was making him uncomfortable and his wolf was not liking it.

"Where's Cora," he asked.

Stiles swallowed, taking a deep breath that seemed to relax him. Licking his lips, he answered, "She went out to get some take out with Isaac a little while ago. She already alerted the others about what had happened. Peter and I came in just as she had pulled that pipe out of you."

Derek nodded. He wasn't happy about his sister being away and somewhere in town, but he was happy to know she wasn't alone. He also figured the rest of the pack would know sooner or later. The smell of blood was still in the air. Derek settled a little more on the couch, sitting more upright, ignoring the uncomfortable ache in his torso. His eyes kept going back to Stiles, who was still standing, looking uncertain and trying to remain as still as possible. It was different from the constant movements Derek knew Stiles to have. Where was the flailing limbs and the constant talking, babbling even when he was nervous? What happened to the boy Derek was getting used to?

It was now that Derek noticed those differences in Stiles. Before he noticed them, the calm detachment, the subtlety in his heartbeats, but he never really gave notice to the rest of him. He kept getting pulled in by his eyes, seemingly wiser beyond a seventeen year old boy, snarky and observant even when he rambled, but now mirroring Deaton of all people. Derek didn't know if that irked him or unsettled him. It was like Stiles went through a personality shift, small hints of his original self still there, but faded and masked.

Was that Derek's doing? Was it Gerard's and his hunters? Was it something else that he didn't know about Stiles?

"Stiles...I-," he tried only to stop. What could he say to make it better? What could he say to take back the unfair words he left the boy with in their last meeting? Derek said those things in the heat of the moment, and he didn't understand what he could do to correct it. “I just...”

"Look you don’t have to explain or anything Hale." Stiles said rather tersely, not really looking at him, but clenching his jaw and hands anyway. "I get it. I don’t need an explanation.”

Derek shook his head, his wolf whining, “No, that...I didn’t mean-."

"Yes you did," Stiles said, with so much certainty that he looked at Derek square in the eye, almost daring him to say otherwise again. His jaw firmly clenched his eyes seeming that same amber color from before. "You meant it. You can’t take it back like it was nothing."

"No that’s not it."

Stiles scoffed, running a hand down his face in frustration. "Then what is it Hale? What is it you wish to shift the blame to?"

This conversation was not going how Derek wanted. He had no expectations to begin with, but he at least wanted to try and make Stiles understand. But then, did Derek want him to? He understood his fears, his insecurities, but that didn't mean he was ready to spill it all like he was in counseling. He didn't trust anybody to go to counseling, even if he would admit to wanting to go. There was nothing he could say to make this better for him or Stiles. There was nothing he could say to take away what transpired between them. But not saying anything would be even worse, right?

"I'm not. I just...I shouldn’t have said, I mean I was wrong...and I can’t expect...I’m sorry.” He muttered. 

"What was that?" Stiles asked, turning towards him completely, full undivided attention.

Derek thought it would have been harder to say it again, but it was strangely easier, even if his voice sounded gruff. "I'm sorry."

He watched as Stiles' eyes widened a fraction, his breathing ceasing, but his heart went up in tempo. He didn't move as he waited for Stiles. When the boy didn't speak, Derek wanted to fidget. He had thought that Stiles was too stunned to say anything, but then would shake it off and either start laughing or celebrating. Derek didn't know what to think. Was he happy, please, proud, even smug at getting Derek, the Alpha werewolf, to apologize? Derek had never seen Stiles as such an unreadable statue. Yet there was nothing. Derek was not foolish enough to think his words fixed everything or maybe even anything. There was still a large metaphorical gap between them, that much was clear.

When it seemed like Derek would have to be the one to break the silence, Stiles spoke, his voice rough, not really meeting his eyes, "Look Hale, I just-"

"Stop that," Derek growled.

"What?"

"Saying my surname," he bit out. He didn't want to be addressed that way. He never wanted that again. "I hate that. I hate it when someone uses it like that. It’s what she used-before...”

Understanding flashed in Stiles eyes, before he gave quick curt nod, lowering his eyes placating, "Okay...Derek. But this-this doesn’t change anything."

Derek nodded. It was the first time he heard his name pass Stiles' lips in months, and Derek felt the knot in his stomach lessen just a small bit. Of course it didn't change anything. But then, did that mean Stiles would not insert himself into the pack? Is that even what Derek wanted. The small disappointment he felt at Stiles words, might be the answer he needed, but he just ignored it. “I just...I needed to say it. I wanted to. I made a mistake.”

Stiles nodded, swallowing hard. His eyes however were hard and distant. "I suppose that’s all I can ask for."

 

Peter chose that moment to come back downstairs, carrying a bundle of clothes in his hand. Derek wanted to say more, he could see the hard lines of Stiles' face after he spoke, but he didn't get the chance to ask if Stiles even accepted his apology. Did he? Did Stiles want to work with the pack again? Peter threw them at Stiles who caught them easily, looking at them questioningly.

Derek faintly smelled them as they flew over the air. A familiar earthy musk of spice and leather catching his nose. Those were his clothes. He looked at Peter hard who avoided his gaze, he saw the faintest twitch of his mouth though. Peter was still walking closer, pointing towards the bathroom upstairs. "Go change," he said airily. "There's bandages in cabinets up their you can use. Cora should be back soon with food."

Stiles looked like he wanted to argue, but seeming to tired to care, he trekked upstairs. His shoes clanging softly on the metal as he ascended. Peter watched him go as Derek sat in silence with his thoughts. Peter handed him a shirt as well, which he slid on as Peter left, instead heading into the kitchen where Derek heard the water run and the sounds of metal and silverware being cleaned and put away in drawers. Derek was left alone until Stiles came back downstairs a little while later. During that time period, Derek had sat up and removed his legs from the couch, sitting upright, staring off into space. Surprisingly Stiles sat down next to him on the couch, as far away from his as it allowed. He was stiff in his posture, but Derek didn't press anything. No words were exchange and the sounds of Peter in the kitchen was oddly domestic in the background.

Eventually Derek flipped on the television, wanting a distraction. He could smell his scent on the clothes Stiles wore. It was mixing with Stiles' own. His sweet and spice scent that Derek knew to be him combining with his in a way he didn't want to think about. It was complimentary in a way and not something Derek wanted to focus on. He kept his attention on the screen not focusing on the movie that seemed to be playing. He had no idea what it was or what was happening. He was just trying to keep the scent away from his nose and think through his thoughts.

It wasn't until he heard a slightly deep breathing that he looked up to find Stiles asleep. He didn't know when or even how it happened, but there the boy was, asleep on his couch, wearing his clothes. Derek found that he couldn't look away. Even in sleep, Stiles seemed rigid. His head leaning on his hand on the arm of the chair, his mouth was barely open, his breathing quick, but somehow not enough to be awake. There was a look of pain on his face, like a wince that wasn't going away. A twitch of his mouth and tightening of his hand holding his head. Derek wondered if he was feeling the pain from his side. He realized then that he actually never saw the wound, but there was a lot of blood. He could still smell it in the air mixing with his own, but it was the image that bothered him the most. He saw the evidence before he could smell it, and he didn't like it.

Derek hesitantly, against his better judgement, reached out a hand, carefully leaning over slightly to slowly touch Stiles' other hand on his thigh. He was careful to listen if Stiles woke up, but he seemed to be exhausted enough that a hand on his didn't reach his subconscious. Derek waited a few seconds before starting to take the pain away. Just because Stiles was stubborn and Derek didn't see the extent of the wound, that didn’t mean they Derek liked Stiles being in unnecessary pain. The inky lines swirled up Derek’s arm, bringing with it the pain.

And good lord was there pain. It made Derek clench his teeth together in a snap. He didn’t expect this. Not at all.

He knew Stiles was uncomfortable, but this was so much different. It was stinging right into his very core, like someone took a cut and poured a lot of lemon juice in it. It seared into his veins. Derek watched Stiles face as it contorted a fraction. His mouth a thin line, his eyebrows furrowed. He could hear his breathing coming more raspy, his heart rate increasing. Derek tried to take more pain but he found that he couldn’t handle it. There was so much. _How was there this much?_

From scratches over his side, he wouldn’t be feeling this kind of pain. This cutting pain, so deep it could burn into his memory. It was more than that though. Accompanied with it was a shocking feeling, leaving his fingers tingly, toes numb, his teeth felt like they were live wires and he could feel his heart jumping in his jaw. 

Peter had come in hearing the sound of Stiles heart and the hitches in Derek's breathing alone with the hard beats of his own heart. Derek didn't even notice the stopping of the water or Peter coming in until he put a hand on Derek's shoulder. If he said Derek’s name, he couldn’t hear it. Neither bothered to break the connection, too focused on what they were seeing and hearing. All Derek could hear was Stiles. The faintest of whimpers coming from the teen the longer the moments passed. His face growing more unsettled by the minute. Derek could see sweat coating his brow.

He was dreaming.

The black lines on his arm were getting darker, slightly thicker, the pain worse. What is this? What the hell is happening? The pain was scolding now, so hot it burned a small bit traveled up his arm to disappear into his chest. It took his breath away that he immediately felt his shift starting to happen, his eyes bleeding red. It was on the same level of pain he felt from the pipe in his body, but different that he had never experienced. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself grounded enough to stop his shift and the growls from escaping. He couldn't look away form Stiles, he couldn’t let go either. Even if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to get this pain out his head. This pain was a mix of so many things, physical and now emotional, that it ran so deep it landed like a rock in his gut. He felt angry, betrayed, grief, guilt so much pain, and above all sheer, unbridled terror. So much so Derek wanted to scream.

Stiles jerked awake, rearing to his feet so fast that it was a blur. Derek’s hand was shaken from his so fast that the pain had stopped, slowly ebbing away but leaving his brain muddled and his vision blurry with white lights. Stiles was breathing so hard Derek thought this was one of his panic attacks that he has heard of before. The sweat coating his forehead and the back of his neck. It intensified the boy's scent and nearly overwhelmed both wolves. Yet neither could get emotions from it. Just all Stiles, his basic scent. 

It was his face they could try and read a reaction. His eyes were wide and his panting was making it clear that it seemed like he was in fear. His shoulder were heaving and his hands grasping at his sides at nothing. Peter moved from behind the couch to try and move over to Stiles when the boy spoke.

"I gotta go."

"Stiles, wait,” Peter called out to him.

The boy didn't stop as he practically ran from the room, pulling open the door just as Cora seemed to be behind it. Her surprised expression at his presence, only to be replaced with concern and question as Stiles went right past her without a single word or stagger.

"Stiles...,” Derek followed up, standing up, but almost losing balance as he was not fully healed yet. His legs felt heavy and his body hurt like he was pummeled with rocks, but he still remained upright. The boy didn't hear him and he was gone as quicker than Derek thought he ever was. _I’m sorry,_  Derek thinks.

He doesn’t know what he is sorry for. Where does he start? All he can think about was the pain, the pain he pulled from Stiles. Where was all of that coming from? What-what can he do? A part of Derek wanted to help, but another part, wants to leave it alone. It’s not his business and he had no doubt Stiles would tell him as much. He couldn't shake those emotions he felt, raw and gut wrenching. Somehow Derek couldn't help but think that he was a cause or at least a factor.

He didn’t mean to hurt Stiles more. He didn’t mean to fuck up so badly, but he just couldn’t help it. The boy is so grating sometimes, so insistent. He somehow managed to push Derek's control more than anyone else ever has besides his uncle and he didn't know what to do about it. He saw Derek clearly, clearer than Derek was comfortable with and when Stiles pushed for an answer, it was like all Derek could give him was his darkest thought. Not just a thought...a fear.

It will always be a fear. To trust the wrong person again, to ultimately lose everything. To think everything is good for it become a lie. To be tricked because of an open and listening face. And Derek just watched as one of those faces, one that seemed to become a growing constant just hurried out his door. His sister turned her eyes to him, her face going dark as he stood there, no doubt thinking he caused Stiles' departure. Derek wasn't sure if that was true or not.

He really was such a poor Alpha.


	25. Well Oops

When Stiles left the loft he was nearly about ready to throw up. It wasn't just from the nightmare though. No it was from realizing he had fallen asleep. Fallen asleep and left himself vulnerable and at Derek’s place. Of all people why did it have to be at Derek’s place that this happened? He was pissed. Pissed at himself for letting it happen. Where was his control and his carefully crafted mask? The man has made it clear he doesn’t trust Stiles despite apologizing but Stiles agreed with the sentiment. He didn’t trust Derek either, yet his body didn’t seem to get the memo, and apparently neither did his subconscious.

He was just tired. Hurt and healing, but he it exhausted him. After the Selkie's and his rest of the evening's events, it left him drained. Something that he was becoming familiar with. He was just exhausted, all the time!

Between magic, the pack and the Alphas, his lack of sleep and everything else in between, he was running on adrenaline and caffeine most of the time. His blood was practically more caffeine more than anything else. He has tried for months to shake off what Derek and Scott did. To show how he didn’t need them. That he wasn’t weak and yet he passes out in front of the man with issues the size of the Grand Canyon. What was wrong with him? And Derek...he did nothing. Stiles was surprised he let it happen. Stiles had noticed Derek's hand on his, when he woke up, throwing it off quickly but still he noticed, he felt the weight, the warmth of it on his. He had no idea why. Why would Derek touch him? Why would Derek even want to have him on his couch? He was at the wolf's den, a sacred and protected place. So why would he allow Stiles to stay, wounded or not?

He shouldn't have stayed anyway. That fault was his as well. He was pissed with Derek. The man may have said he was sorry but he didn’t say what he was sorry for. It was _vague_. It could have meant he was sorry for Gerard, sorry for not knowing, for kicking him out of the pack, for lying or not saying to the pack about what Derek decided that night, never sharing that Stiles _was_ in fact kicked out, it seems no one knew. No one except Peter, Lydia, and Danny. Why hadn’t Derek said anything? Why had no one brought it up? Did they care at all or did Derek not want to face the repercussions of his decisions? His apology could have been from his comparing him to Ka- no, no, Stiles was not going to go down that road. The point was the ‘sorry’ could be for anything. And Derek wasn’t completely specific. He said he made a mistake and that was fine, yes he did, but which one. Which one did he want to address most?

Stiles thought hearing sorry from the Alpha would have caused him to feel joy or smugness, or maybe even acceptance. Feel a weight lifted from his shoulders and an easiness return to him. But there was nothing. He felt nothing, just a deep sense of emptiness that had no origin. He settled to feel resignation in the end because it was clear that Derek still didn’t know how to speak with him. Didn’t know how to swallow his pride and speak the truth.

And then the guy had to sit there, piercing kaleidoscope eyes, deeply seated frown that never ceases, shirtless, bunched muscles- wait what? Where was he going with this? He shook his head free of the images. Stiles was not blind and was mature enough to say that Derek was a very attractive man, or werewolf rather, but that was all. Stiles was comfortable with his bisexuality, but he was not going to explore anything considering Derek. He wasn’t even going to indulge the thought of it. He already had enough issues. Maybe once, once upon a time he could have entertained such fantasies, but not now. The man was not for him, in more ways than one and not in any universe would there be a Stiles and Derek. _Nope, nope no Sterek or magical connections or any shenanigans to be made here,_ he thought.

Still. If he was honest, brutally honest with himself...he could get lost in those eyes.

Shaking his head more violently this time, he made his way to the streets that would lead him home. It was now night, him having spent most of the evening in the woods with Peter and then spending some hours with a worried Cora before she settled down and he cleaned a healing Derek. He wasn't sure how long he was asleep either, but it contributed to his time lost. It didn't erase the experience though. When he and Peter came in to find Cora pulling the pipe out of Derek’s unconscious back, Stiles nearly shot her with his magic. His stunned terror quickly morphing to concerned terror as he saw the tears roll down her cheeks as she tried to wake him up. It took a lot of consoling and deep breathing from Peter to get her to calm down a little. It helped when she started to see some evidence that Derek was healing-although that was due to Stiles stealthily pushing a healing spell into Derek’s body speeding his recovery just a little more for a moment-but it helped to settle her and indirectly Stiles as well. At least he knew Derek wouldn’t bleed out before he had a chance to heal enough before he was out of the danger zone. 

When things calmed down enough Cora told them what happened, although it seemed she might be paraphrasing from still being thoroughly worried about her brother. Derek was making his recovery and when he wasn’t no longer bleeding and a hint of color was coming back him, his breathing normalizing, she went out to get some food for when he awoke, already calling Isaac on her way. Stiles was surprised by Peter leaving a bowl of warm water and a cloth beside Derek, about ready to sit down but needing towel. Stiles didn’t know why or how he found himself sitting next to the Alpha, cleaning his wound and blood from his chest and stomach, but he was there when Peter came back with a clean towel in hand.

If the man was surprised, he didn’t say a word. Maybe Stiles needed something to do, some way to help unconsciously. He didn’t know. He tried to not think about it in there, but now he couldn’t stop. Why did he have to go and contradict his own anger and blasé attitude when it came to the pack or to Derek? It frustrates him that yet again he helped without even meaning to. He didn't understand why, after everything, he still helped. It was a flaw of his to be compassionate, despite his own turmoil of emotions as well as the inevitable hurt that would follow in one way or another. That is what Derek has done, hasn't he? Hurt him, a couple time over, with trivial words, but words that cut deep to Stiles. He had been doing good about not helping the pack and therefore Derek throughout the summer. He may have been distracted most of the time, but it still worked. So why now, why now has it seemed that Stiles unknowingly helped?

Was it the threat of the Alpha pack? Was it finally rescuing Erica and Boyd? Was it being more in the pack's presence after being cut off for so long?

He couldn't do this. He couldn't get sucked in to these questions and delusions. He wasn't pack, but it didn't mean he was heartless. If he could help, then he would. That didn't mean he trusted them, any of them. But he wouldn't wish to see them perish at the hands of crazy, murderous Alphas. He would not get lost in sentimental, cheap thoughts and wishes that held no weight. That ship has sailed long ago.

Stiles made a choice then. One that maybe he shouldn’t have. One that maybe was a little bit rash. He just wanted a way to forget. Forget the supernatural for once, even if temporary. A couple hours wouldn’t hurt. He was tired so what was wrong with a little rest dammit!

He changed directions, walking more and more surely the closer he got to his destination. He knew the way without really thinking about it. He grew up in this town, so he memorized every street. The longer he walked, the further he got from home, from Derek's loft. It wasn't the furthest, but any amount of distance from no doubt anything supernatural and strenuous was better than nothing. He pulled his phone free and sent off a quick text, one to his dad telling him he was out with Danny, and another. When he walked up to the firehouse the person he was there to see was already waiting for him, having got his text, a bright smile on his face. Stiles could feel the slight smile playing at his own lips as he saw Ryan standing there in the one of the building's overhead lights. He seemed surprised to see him, and even pleased.

“Hey,” he said when Stiles got close enough.

“Hey.”

"It’s good to see you."

"You too," Stiles said, feeling a sense of guilt flood through him. "Sorry I've been MIA lately.”

Ryan waved him off with a smile, the stretch reaching his eyes. "No worries. I’m just glad to catch some time with you.”

Stiles felt bad for being a little forgetful about Ryan. Aside from the slight few texts here and there, he hadn’t had a chance to see him. And with Ryan’s late shifts, it made it harder. After their last meeting, or rather date, after the kiss, Stiles has been distracted. A small part of him felt like that was a message to him. Like it was saying he wasn't interested. He was...honestly, Stiles was interested. He just...he wasn't sure what to do about it. How that made sense, even he didn't know? Ryan was turning 21 soon and Stiles was going to be 17 in another few weeks. It had nothing to do with age. The more he thought about it, the more he could see how hard it could be, from a supernatural standpoint especially. “Is it okay if I’m here,” he asked instead as a distraction.

“Sure. It’s been quiet the past few days, knock on wood. We are just playing Cards Against Humanity. You wanna join,” he asked with a glint in his eye and a shy smile on his lips.

Stiles was a little taken aback about doing something so normal and completely ordinary. It seemed a little foreign to him. It was a stark difference on how much his life has changed. Once he had the luxury of doing something like this weekly maybe even daily with his dad. Scott and maybe even Ms. McCall and Allison and even Isaac thrown in. Now, it was a stretch. Partly because of his loosened ties to the pack, but also because he, himself, was no longer normal. While he did not regret his magic, he cherished it and revered it, he whole heatedly accepted it as part of himself as well as part of his family because of his mother, a small part of him knew he couldn't return to normal. Hell, normal went out the window the night Scott got bitten when they were in those woods looking for a dead body. Not his most shining choices, but it still helped lead him to here. It was a defining night and there was no going back. He could unsee everything, unknow what he knew now, couldn't forget the whole year and a half of nightmares, beasts, myths, and magic.

 Stiles could use some human in chaotic life, even for a little while. 

*** * * * * * ***

Stiles got to school the next day and mozzied on in his classes as best he could. He was still tired and he felt like he was going to burst if he got annoyed too much. It said a lot about his attitude, when most of everyone seemed to stay away from him. He had earned a bit of a reputation this year. He has heard the rumors. Somehow he got all jacked, on drugs or surgery, or personal trainer to help him get in shape. Stiles knew his body has changed, all his training from Chris over the summer being what caused it. Of course no one else knew it and he was fine by that. It was only Danny who knew and still knew. Since school started, their meetings have gotten less frequent, but still went around three times a week, sometimes four. Lydia's new wardrobe for him has also gotten a few head turns. No more overly large shirts and plaid. While he still had some plaid, he wore those mostly at home. Stiles found he unconsciously started wearing the tighter clothing daily, not as a way to please Lydia and see her handiwork, but because he was just dressing himself. Not caring what it was he put on, only that it was functional and matched. Mostly it was a tight long sleeve shirt with tight jeans, but still had room for a knife to be put in the waist band or strapped under his shirt. Mostly he just wanted to hide the scars and the mark he and Danny both shared. Even Danny was hiding his forearm beneath longer shirts and jackets.

It was funny, listening to a few theories and rumors. But he quickly got over them. High school life used to be a big thing for him. Studying, looking into colleges, and hanging out with friends. It all seemed so trivial now. It seemed like distant memories. All he could think about now was the Alphas, the murders that were piling up, the distance between him and his former friends, former pack, his magic researching. It all took presidency now. There were other students who were troubled by the murders too, the darkness in the shadows, but it never lasted long. Teenagers forgot pretty quickly, so long as there was something else to distract them. They shoved everything worth eye-opening to the back of their minds until they ultimately put it off as bad feelings or rumors. Blinding themselves by faith, hope, and lies. It irked him that he was like that in some ways.

Imagine all of his annoyance, his exhaustion, his wariness of the pack, and his constant expectation of something bad happening again flying out the window when he rounded a corner in the hall to see Danny by his locker talking with Ethan. Ethan as in Alpha Ethan from the Alpha pack. The ones trying to not only kill or recruit Derek but who are now after him, which he just learned yesterday.

Danny wasn’t just talking and smiling, he was flirting. They both were. Stifle resisted the urge to cringe and coo at the same time. This wasn’t a soap opera or high school musical. Their lives were dark, supernatural and completely unpredictable. Not to mention dangerous. With teeth and claws and magic, but more teeth though. Stiles watched from the side as Ethan flashed another smile at Danny, the bell ringing, before the wolf turned to leave, brushing a hand against Danny's arm as he did in a sign of departure. It was also a sign of scent-marking, even if it was subtle. 

Marching up to Danny, muttering a spell quickly with a flick of a finger aimed at Danny, he said, "What was that?”

"What," the boy said, taken aback, by both his arrival and his tone.

"You. Since when are you and Ethan all friendly?"

Danny looked a little embarrassed before answering with a little purse of his lips. "Since I have History with him."

"U huh. And why is this the first I’m hearing about it," Stiles asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Why are you jealous?" Danny smirked at him.

Stiles scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "No and _if_ I was I saw you first."

Danny chuckled, putting a book into his locker, before pulling out a binder. "What are we nine?"

"He's an Alpha."

"Shh," Danny tried, nearly putting his hand over Stiles' mouth, his eyes darting around the hall, almost afraid someone would hear them, or if Ethan would come up beside them suddenly.

Stiles waved off Danny's hand, barely looking at anyone who passed. He and Danny started walking towards their classes, almost in the same direction, except Stiles' class was a further away, down the hall and off to the right. "Relax, no one is going to hear anything. I cast a spell that not even the dogs can hear."

Danny seemed to relax at that before giving Stiles unimpressed look as the other teen crossed his arms, waiting for his explanation. "He's an Alpha, and I’m a witch."

"Exactly. Which means that if he finds out, you will be their number one dinner date. They are _searching_ for me, or rather the witch who deceived them after the rescuing thing. Deucalion paid a visit to Derek yesterday and Derek got left with a pipe shoved through his torso. He wants me found."

Danny went pale after a few seconds of letting the words sink in, stopping in the middle of the hall. "Why didn’t you tell me this last night?"

Stiles could feel his mouth get a little dry. "I got distracted."

"By what," Danny inquired. 

"N-Nothing," he said, warmth flooding his neck and face. His thoughts went back to Ryan. To the night of games, laughter, and bantering. He played the card game for hours with Ryan and his firehouse friends. Even though they were older than him, it didn't deter them. They welcomed him just like last time, warm smiles, and infectious energy for an anticipated night of fun. Stiles had fun. He really did, more fun than he could recall having in a while.

Danny gave him a knowing look after he got out a look of scandalized surprise. "I saw that blush. Are we fraternizing with someone Stilinski?"

"No we are not," he said, pushing down his blush in favor of seriousness. "You are. With one of those who are trying to find me."

"Is it Derek," Danny pressed a smile spreading on his face. "What happened last night? Who knew being impaled would make things do an 180?"

Stiles flailed his arms a little bit, not letting any thoughts of Derek enter his mind. While Stiles had yet to mention the apology or the Selkies, there was nothing that happened with Derek to indicate that Stiles was in a good mood for it. He told Danny once that he might have had a little feeling towards Derek, but it obviously wasn't reciprocated and it never would have been, even if either of them were on good terms. The _Nemeton_ would have to grow back before Derek and Stiles ever became an item. How laughable was that?

"No it wasn't Derek," Stiles growled out, "can you please focus? This isn't about my supposed love life. This is about the fact that the Alphas are hunting for a witch."

Danny seemed disappointed, in what specifically Stiles wasn't sure, but he did ask, "Did they see your face?" When Stiles nodded, his mouth went thin and his jaw tighten. “Shit.”

"They don’t know my name," Stiles said in reassurance, for how little consolation it was. "They don’t know who I am and all they have is dark hair and red hoodie from what Derek told me last night. I no longer have a scent trail for them to follow and they can’t hang around the school searching for me. With Ethan and Aiden, they are no doubt doing that but they have little information. They are looking for a witch, and if they suspect you...they may kill you."

Danny conceited the point a moment before saying , "Or they may take me to Deucalion."

"Who will then kill you for not being me. He knows what I look like. The other three alphas do. They just don't know my name or where I am. We are lucky that the twins weren't there that night and even more lucky that no one saw you. I still don’t know what Deucalion wants and I suspect it’s nothing good."

"Alright."

Stiles could see how bummed Danny looked. He knew it wasn't just because Stiles and he were now in danger of being found out, especially Stiles for being targeted, but it was a little more than that. He saw the flicker of his eyes down the hall, the same direction a certain someone had went down a few moments ago. "You like him don’t you?"

Danny raised his eyes to Stiles, going a fraction wider before he shrugged, then nodded. "Do you like the person you are seeing," he asked in distraction, trying to lighten the mood, just a little. Stiles could appreciate that, but right now, he wasn't pretending to be human in a human world.

"I don’t know what you are talking about," he said anyway, feigning annoyance.

Danny gave a smug smile, before leaving him as he went into his class before Stiles passed it. "I will find out about it Stilinski. I’ll get Lydia on it too."

Stiles stopped before turning wide eyes to Danny. He wouldn't go that far, would he? "You wouldn’t dare." When Danny kept walking into his class, not looking back Stiles felt his cheeks burn. "Danny? Danny!"

*** * * * * * * ***

Lydia had her head down over her notebook in her chemistry class. The redhead had barely moved for nearly an hour, yet her hand was gliding over the page as she focused on it. Danny knew that Lydia was smart, fast and efficient at taking notes on her classes most of the time. It was rare to not see the girl jotting down the lesson in her elegant script. Initially Danny had let her be as she wrote. Her hair cascading over her shoulder like a curtain, hiding her face, almost like it was giving the illusion of privacy. Danny would snort at that, like she was hiding her notes in case anyone wanted to copy off her, but Danny and her had shared notes many times and he was sure there were going to be more in the future.

He sat next to her quietly as he paid attention to Ms. Blake, the relationships between ionic bonds and covalent bonds being written up on the board as she talked. Danny had to admit he was bored. He never like chemistry, but he had to admit it had helped in the past for the few potions he has made. In the days since Mr. Harris was found, the mention of his passing and the investigation was the talk of the school. Along with the fact that his friend Kyle had been found alongside him and their now former band teacher Mr. Wyatt.

Danny had heard it all, from conspiracy theories to Pagan sacrifices. The last one made him angry. Why was it that people always blamed the witch community, when fanatics went off the rails? It always made his skin crawl when he heard names and words thrown around about the reasons for why people were killed. It was no one's business, yet in this town it seemed everyone wanted an answer. Danny couldn't really blame them though. Three bodies were found together and as much as the Sheriff's department had tried to keep it under wraps, the press had found ways by small glimpses and word of mouth which lead to big leaps.

This made six people who had died in the recent couple of months. All with their throats slashed. That was something that most people didn't know. But thanks to Danny's hacking skills, he has gotten some useful information. When Stiles had asked him for help in that area, they did it as a way to see if this was a supernatural problem or not. They were still unsure.

Slashed throats were not by any means supernatural and from what they could find, it was not due to claws. It still didn't settle them though. It was enough that Beacon Hills has a supernatural ringer that seems to call other creatures to it, but now they have a human problem as well. He and Stiles had been trying to find any connections between the any of them, but their was nothing. Aside from being in Beacon Hills and attending Beacon Hills High in 'some' of the cases, there was nothing to link them all together.

"Ms. Martin," he heard from nearby. He looked up to find Ms. Blake standing at their table, her beautiful face slightly irritated, but still kind. "Ms. Martin, are you paying at-"

She stopped as she got closer looking at Lydia, who didn't move. When Danny looked over, he could see she was moving her hand differently than before. She wasn't writing, she was coloring? No, she was drawing. He could see the drawing through her hair as it hung over her shoulder. It looked like a tree, drawn in blue ink, and she was sketching it's branches, extending them to the top of the page. It had a big, sturdy trunk and it's roots were thick and went deep into a makeshift ground on the paper. It was the same tree she had drawn before, the same one she showed them at Deaton's. It was the Nemeton.

Ms. Blake seemed intrigued by her drawing, as she hovered closer. Danny could see her eyes scan over the page. She looked at Lydia curiously, before settling back on the picture. After a moment she seemed to remember what she was doing and that she was trying to get Lydia's attention. "That is an interesting drawing, but I would ask that you focus on things children should concern themselves with. Like chemistry. Put it away please.”

 Danny a moment to reach out a nudge Lydia under the desk, putting his hand on her knee and squeezing, obviously breaking her from her thoughts or trance, or whatever it was that happens to her when she is lost to everything else around her. She seemed to shake out of herself, surprised at his touch, looking up to meet his face with confusion, followed by worry as she was realizing she may have been ‘not present’ for some time. When she noticed Ms. Blake standing there, looking at her drawing, Lydia swipes it away, putting it off to the side under her notebook to grab her text book and turn her eyes to the front. When Ms. Blake gave her one last stern look, making sure she now had her undivided attention, she started to talk again, ignoring the faint snickers from a couple students. Lydia took the quick moment to look over at Danny, worry creasing her face.

”At least I was just drawing this time, right?”

Danny nodded. “Yeah, the same thing again,” he said with a little nudge to her notebook. He could still see the some of the tree branches.

Lydia went back to following the lesson, trying to shake off what her abilities had her doing. The rest of class passed uneventful then. The students no longer paying attention to Lydia Martin's lapse in attention. When they left their last class of the day, she crumbled the drawing up and tossed it into his locker. 

Hey," he said. "I don't want it. I have enough papers to get rid of at the end of the year."

"Yeah, well I'm sick of having more of those drawings. It's the same thing over and over. I see it when I'm asleep and apparently when I'm awake. I don't want it. So throw it away if you wish. But someone else can have that drawing besides me," she said with huff.

"You going home or over to Jackson's," Danny asked. He still hadn't spoken to Jackson since school started and Jackson hasn't made much of an effort. He still had his lacrosse buddies and Stiles, but he was still getting asked questions about what happened with Jackson. He didn't have an answer to give.

"We are going over to Derek's. There are a few things that need discussing. Stiles is going too," Lydia with somewhat conspiratorial look.

Danny nodded. "Yeah, he told me the Alpha's are looking for a...well you know," he finished with a quick look around the other students.

She nodded anyway, getting the memo. "I'll see you later. I might stop by Deaton's this weekend and see if there is anything else he can tell me about...well me."

Danny waved bye to her as she clacked her way down the hall, carrying her purse and notebooks under her arm. Danny watched as people got out of her way, leaving a path for her to move freely. He had to give the girl props. Even though her social life diminished since the whole running in the woods naked thing, she still had a power about her. Apparently her reputation even before the craziness still had some merit. He put his books and binder in his locker, exchanging them for the ones he had homework in to take home. When his fingers brushed against the balled drawing, he hesitated on taking it. He should just throw it away. Lydia was right in saying she had drawn it before and he had no doubt she had more stuffed in notebooks somewhere. He pulled it out and decided he would throw it away at the nearest trash can. He hefted his backpack over his shoulder and went to his car.

In the parking lot, he began unfolding the paper, wanting to get one last look before he tossed it away. Even though it was crumbled the dark blue ink lines formed the tree. Intricate lines, flowing on the white page as he scanned it. He was fascinated with the Nemeton he had to admit. He once tried to find it, when he was younger. Of course he never succeeded. Deaton said the tree possesses a consciousness on it's own. It was a conduit for Nature's magic, a point where the ley lines connected, where so much power converged together, taking root. Of course it would find a way to hide itself. It was a good thing too. But Stiles had found it. Stiles had touched it, which made Danny even more curious. Was it because he was a mage or was it because the tree allowed him to find it?

When he was looking at the drawing, he saw something at the bottom, beneath the roots, drawn in darker lines, like they were originally drawn over and over again. Looking closer, he recognized them as rings. Five rings in total, overlapping each other. Four of them in the directions of the points on a compass, they were connected to the ones next to them, overlapping on the edges. The fifth one was in the center, connecting them all. Danny paused, blinking and then blinking again. This couldn't be right.

Danny turned the page over then back before tracing the lines with his finger. It wasn't just random circles in a weird pattern or shape. It was a symbol, a ruin. He knew this ruin. He looked up almost about ready to tell Lydia what he found, but realized he was still in the parking lot by his car, most of the cars gone and students still filing out and heading home. Danny needed to get to Stiles. It was crazy, but it made sense. Lydia was seeing the Nemeton, but there was more to it. She was seeing something else, something they had all been wondering about. Quickly he got into his car, pulling out of parking lot and nearly speeding down the road. He was bouncing his leg, itching to hurry along. When he got to where he needed to be, it was nearly fifteen minutes later.

He practically threw himself from his car to run over to the building. He had seen it thanks to Stiles and a little bit of his hacking skills. He knew that Derek was living on the top floor, that he owned the top two levels. He may have never seen the inside, but he knew where to go. Using the lift, he was vibrating with energy, tapping his fingers against his pant legs, shuffling his feet. He wasn't really even aware of it as he climbed higher. When he finally got to the top, he bolted from the lift to what was Derek's door, throwing it open quickly.

Inside he was greeted with a range of eyes on him, some were glowing, a few of the wolves standing in tense poses about ready to attack or defend. He took notice of Scott and Isaac in a corner closer to him, Erica and Boyd sitting over the stairs, and Jackson and Lydia on the couch. Danny glanced their way briefly, not caring about his audience as his eyes found Stiles in the back of the room against a large, wide window that spanned the back wall, with Peter Hale, his own eyes bright and wide. Danny rushed to him, not even hearing the growls coming his way.

"Danny?" Stiles asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I know what is happening with the murders," Danny blurted to the room.

Instantly Stiles' went rigid, his concern melting away to seriousness. He flicked his eyes to Peter beside him, who was looking at Danny with an arched brow, almost indulgent and waiting for him to continue. Danny hadn't even noticed how Derek was now hovering nearby, either threatening or defensive, but when Stiles looked over at him, mouth a thin line, Danny had turned to meet the Alpha's gaze briefly. It wasn't the first time they had met. The first time was in Stiles' room, under the disguise of Miguel-which Danny still found implausible-but the man still looked the same as he did that day. Only this time he seemed a little bigger in presence as well as stubbly beard being grown on his very attractive, very angular face.

Danny was a little upset the man was not gay, or bisexual, at least that was the word. Or Stiles' word. But then Stiles was not exactly Derek's biggest fan right now, not that Danny blames him. So maybe Stiles didn't know the truth about what Derek liked. It was a possibility, but damn it would be a shame if the man was straight. _Such a crying, miserable, utterly disappointing shame!_

That all aside, Danny was not a fan of Derek either. The man had a hell of a track record of hurting Stiles. Of making Stiles the bad guy when he had no right to that. Stiles had his faults, just like everyone did, and Danny has gotten to know those faults over the past few months, but he was definitely not the villain that Derek seemed to point him out as. It wasn't fair. It was bullheaded and disgraceful. As an Alpha, Derek should be better with his instincts. He should be better at being the leader, the driver, the one to guide the pack and be the idol they need. Those may not be the best terms to use, but Danny knew what a pack was supposed to mean. He wasn't sure about this pack. He wasn't sure about how established they were. As for Derek, Danny felt for him about his past, he honestly did, but he feared more for his future now. He feared Derek was as lost as he tried to hide.

"Danny what are you doing here," Jackson asked coming closer, rounding the couch he and Lydia were sitting on.

"Who are you," Derek asked behind him well more like growled.

"Here just look at this," Danny said, producing the drawing Lydia did, holding it upright so Stiles could see it. Stiles took it to scan it, his honey eyes looking it over carefully as if he was missing something. Peter looked over his shoulder, his eyebrows scrunched together. It was an odd sight, seeing the pair so close, given what Stiles has told him about the older wolf.

"A drawing," Peter asked with false interest.

"Is that my drawing," Lydia asked walking over where they stood, looking at the picture beside Stiles.

"Of a tree," Peter continued. "How pretty?"

"It's not about the tree," Danny said, trying to tell Stiles his hidden message. It was clear to him and Stiles, also Lydia that the tree was the Nemeton, but he was trying to not say it. He knew the pack didn't know about Lydia. She had been trying to tell them, but she wasn't sure how to explain it when she barely understood what all she could do. She was still new to it, and Danny suspected she was still coming to terms with it.

"Not the tree, the symbol," Danny said impatiently. "I've seen it before in my studies. Druids are more aware of the Celtic meaning than most witches, but this was once widely used in the Dark Ages. It has different meanings now, but with it now commonly used for one purpose. I had read a lot in my training and ran across this a couple times. It is not just a symbol, but a ritual. A spell that is powerful. My magic wouldn't be able to handle such a spell of this caliber.”

Stiles lifted his head quickly to look at Danny. Lydia looked like she was close to slapping him, before settling on irritated resignation. The room went quiet and still and it took Danny a moment to piece together what he had said. _Shit._

"Shit.” Stiles whispered so quietly it was like the sound of wind.

"Your the witch,” Jackson whispered with saucer eyes. 

“Umm...uh...I...” Danny felt his tongue had grown fat in his mouth. He looked to Stiles as if he expected help, but Stiles wasn't looking at him. He was looking past him and most likely at Derek. Danny dared not turn around. Peter was looking at him with curiosity, flicking his eyes between him and Stiles, speculating and assessing.

"Like pointy hat and cauldrons witch," Scott asked from somewhere behind him. Danny rolled his eyes at that. He heard a slap of skin against skin and he wondered who hit Scott. Probably Isaac.

Stiles swallowed hard before spoke. "I think we should sit down. Explain a few things."

When everyone's eyes turned to him, some still wide and disbelieving, or in other cases, guarded and hard like Derek's, Danny was about ready to go bang his head on the wall. The only word to describe this was...Oops.

*** * * * * * ***

"You knew?”

Stiles could feel everyone's eyes on him after Jackson spoke. They had told the pack everything. Mostly. Stiles could feel Danny's emotional turmoil. Above all it was his nerves and his anxiety. He did well at hiding it, but Stiles wondered if the wolves could smell it. It was surprising to see that everyone had settled in to listen, no one saying much unless they had a question which wasn't often. Scott had the questions more than anyone, seeming confused about how Danny was a witch and that they were real. He seemed to be struggling with the aspects of magic and the fact it wasn't a Hollywood ploy on the big screen. Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes throughout any of Scott's interruptions. I mean hello, werewolves!

Danny shuffled his feet the whole time, his shoulders tense. Stiles knew he was waiting for the blow, for any of them to get angry and throw him out. Stiles wouldn't let that happen, but he knew it would still hurt Danny at the action no matter who came to his aid. He knew the risk they were taking in telling the pack. If Danny hadn't slipped up in his excitement at what he knew about that symbol, they would not be having this conversation now. Stiles kept tracking his eyes over to Jackson, who was listening intently, but not really looking at his best friend. Were they still best friends? Danny had been avoiding him for nearly the whole time Stiles had been avoiding Scott, but for a few different reasons. Danny and Jackson had both been hiding things from one another and that has taken a toll on their former closeness. Now even more so at Danny knows about what happened with Derek and Scott. Danny may not say it, but Stiles thought that he was projecting his anger towards Derek and Scott onto Jackson as well.

It would be hypocritical for Danny to just blame Jackson for not telling him the truth. Danny had been part of the supernatural for much longer than most of them, excluding Derek and Peter. Jackson was looking like a kicked puppy who realized that there were things he didn't know. Stiles kind of wished his empathy link with Danny extended to beyond them, just so he could read the room. Everyone else was statuesque, except for Lydia. She actually interjected a few things, mainly what she is. At the mention of her being a Banshee, the room went dead quiet it uncanny and a little funny considering the irony. 

Lydia explained everything she learned from Deaton and everything she had read. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Unfortunately Banshee's were not very common and what little was reported was shrouded in questions that didn't have much in the way of explanations. Derek seemed to express more emotion in those moments than he had the whole conversation. His brows twitching, his mouth going from grim to considering, to blank. Peter seemed pleased and Stiles didn't want to think about how much the man either knew or guessed. She spoke about her dreams, which some of the pack didn't seem surprised with, about her finding those bodies and feeling drawn to them, about the powerful urge to scream when she finds the ones she was unconsciously looking for. Lydia kept her face completely neutral, like a teach speaking a lecture, talking about her trance like states and how much she has read about so far, but still not experiencing anything more. What she found surprising was how she didn't go out to find the most recent bodies found, something the whole pack didn't have a word to say about in that moment. When she was finished, she looked at Jackson, silently asking him to say something. Instead he said nothing, just squeezed her hand and listened to Danny continue about him being a witch, explaining about his Spark.

They didn't speak about Stiles. That was a silent agreement. Stiles had already told Danny about Peter knowing and that was enough. Danny was skeptical about Peter not saying anything, but somehow agreed that maybe the older wolf was the practical choice if Stiles was willingly going to come out of the Mage closet. And given how Peter and Stiles' odd kinship has been going lately, it made Stiles feel a little better about the man knowing. It didn't stop it from being weird though.

"Yeah I knew." Stiles had said softly as Danny shifted a little closer to him, in silent attempt for comfort.

"How long," Isaac asked him directly, curious and open.

"Beginning of the summer."

"So what you couldn't deal with your friendships crashing, you had to slither your way into someone else's," Jackson asked snidely, his eye narrowing on Stiles. Yup, here comes the fun part.

Stiles felt Danny's anger spike, his body tensing as he prepared to speak, but Stiles beat him to it, his voice calm and quiet, something he has gotten used to using. "Funny how you think there are any snakes in this room, besides yourself."

Jackson went a shade paler, but his mouth went grimmer. Stiles could hear a faint growl coming from the other boy, but he was no where near impressed. He heard better coming from Peter. "Shut up Jackson," Danny intervened, "if anyone ruined our friendship it was you. Do you have any idea how it felt to watch you drop 'dead' on the field, after you pushed me aside with your bullshit superiority complex, only to find out later that you were alive and next to avoided me for weeks?"

If possible, Jackson went even paler, his eyes going from anger to hurt in an instant after Danny's speech. Stiles could feel the bitterness from Danny, the hurt and anger as well as the fear. Stiles had forgotten that Jackson, technically died on the field only to be just fine the next day. A tale being told by Melissa to Stiles' dad to give to people. Of course since both parents were in the know, it was easy for them, but he had forgotten the work that went into making people misinterpret what they had seen. Danny however knew better. Stiles had told him what happened, but Danny still felt the sting of Jackson throwing away his friendships for power, even if he was being controlled, then dying, then coming back with radio silence, only to seem to brush it aside when he felt like it. Jackson opened his mouth to close it again, back and forth. Lydia lowered her head, not wanting to intrude on this. Everyone else didn't seem to get that. Their eyes going back and forth like they were watching a game. Derek's eyes were trained on the floor, unmoving.

"I-I had to work through some things," Jackson eventually stammered. "I had to learn to control my..."

"What? Control your anger? I can see it still needs work." Danny said bitterly.

"I'm sorry," Jackson muttered. It shocked Stiles to hear those word tumble from the jocks mouth, but it wasn't an unwelcome change. It was a shame it came after his chastisement. "I'm sorry of what I did. I wanted to tell you, but I...I didn't or couldn't or..."

Danny's anger subsided some, turning into a weary sadness as Stiles took a deep breath, letting the tension leave his body. "I know that feeling. Supernatural, magic, how do you start a serious conversation like that?"

Stiles snorted loudly. "Wow you two would suck at Supernatural's Comic Con."

That earned a few snickers around the room, Danny shouldering him with his own. Stiles didn't miss the tilt of Jackson's lips as they all settled. It didn't last long though.

"Why didn’t you say something?"

Stiles looked up to meet Derek's eyes. The man was looking at him with an unreadable face. His eyes were focused solely on Stiles and the boy tried to not look away. He couldn't show weakness, that was what he constantly had to tell himself. He was in a room of wolves, showing weakness or submissiveness was not in the books. Derek was an Alpha, but Derek was definitely not by any means his. That had been Derek's decision from the beginning, Stiles just further solidified that decision. The last time Stiles showed weakness, he nearly died. The last time he showed weakness, Derek threw him out and told him he was not welcome or wanted.

So instead, Stiles focused on what he knew for certain. He knew where he stood. He was an outsider, nothing more. He had ties to these people, some stronger than others. Outside these walls and away from those who were pack, he had others who wanted him, would be there for him, proved themselves to him. Inside, he was just an acquaintance. The one who helps off handedly. Stiles couldn't find it in himself to think it wasn't better that way.

"As opposed to you saying something?" He had asked the Alpha quietly. He watched as Derek was caught off guard by that statement, his dark eyebrows coming together as he thought about Stiles' thought pattern. It was clear he was silently asking, 'What was that supposed to mean.' “Trust goes both ways.”

"Stiles we are a pack," Isaac said at the same time Erica muttered, "Of course we can be trusted."

Stiles swallowed. Words threatening to break free. Pack? Were they a pack? None of them _knew_ and it seemed like they may never until someone spilled the beans. The question was, should it be Stiles? After his recklessness in putting the pack in danger when rescuing Erica and Boyd, then Cora's fever, and them going after him because they thought the Alpha's had him, splitting them all up, he was trying to be more careful about what he did when regarding the pack. This topic, was no different. Should Stiles ruin what little closeness they all had? Should he shatter the glass walls they have put up to shield them from what they don't know about themselves and each other? Danny had told him what a pack was meant to be. Stiles had read enough to know what a pack was supposed to feel like for everyone, no matter if they were human or werewolf. Was this a family or were they blinding themselves with their own ignorance and fear?

Stiles knew that half the members of this 'pack' didn't want to be here. For all he knew, Stiles still thinks Jackson is a grade A douche who cares more about himself than the others in the room, possibly excluding Lydia and Danny only. Erica and Boyd had still run from Derek, Stiles learning that the hunters all those months back. Stiles has not had a real conversation with the two betas, mostly because Stiles has avoided it. He didn't want to bring up past trauma, he was kind of sure that those two didn't either. There was a change in the two of them, that he noticed. They stayed close to each other, but from what Stiles understood, neither really hang around the other pack members. Now that Stiles thought about it, he couldn't remember seeing the betas with the others even during lunch or in the halls. Scott was a whole other issue that was a migraine in the making. Isaac was like a puppy, but confused on what to do. And Lydia was, well he supposed she did whatever she wanted. Cora and Peter were no doubt with Derek because they were family. They were the only family they had left, something Stiles understood well.

Stiles said nothing though. Instead he looked back at Derek, feeling a sense of tiredness overtake him.

"Tell us what you know about this," Derek asked then, breaking the silence. He was still looking at Stiles, but he was directing his voice to Danny. Stiles remained still under that steady gaze, but he did break that gaze. Stiles still felt the weight of the gaze, but he paid it no mind, making his mind steer away from any thoughts of Hale. Ignoring the flutter of his magic at Derek willingly wanting to listen to something he didn't know, willing to listen to someone who was non-pack. Instead he looked at Danny, raising his brow in question for him to continue.

"It’s called a five fold knot," Danny said, turning to face the room more head on. "A symbol that has been used a few times in Celtic circles. Magic practitioners once used it as a seal to encompass five things, all interconnected in someway."

"Like the five elements," Stiles asked.

"Yeah, but there are some who used it connect other things. I don't think Lydia drawing this was a coincidence."

"When is it ever," Lydia quietly asked to no one in particular.

"So it's significance is for what," Peter asked with look that spoke of both boredom and interest.

Danny licked his lips, swallowing hard before continuing. Stiles could feel his nerves and his uncertainty. "While this symbol is used to connect five things, it has another purpose. It is used to make the conduit stronger. The sign is just a symbolism of what it does. The gist is that it represents a spell, one that pulls from those five things, all to empower the conduit, the one who is enacting the spell."

Lydia leaned forward on the chair with Jackson, her green eyes thoughtful. "Stronger as in...what?"

"A magic user," Stiles said as he realized where this was going. "As in more powerful."

"So it's a supernatural juicer, like a steroid." Cora asked, speaking for the first time in a long while. It was odd how musical her voice sounded compared to Derek's.

Danny nodded his head in a 'well yeah sorta' manner. "There are multiple ways for magic users, witches, druids, enchanters, to draw more power from something. Usually from items or from other signs, like ruins and talismans. But there are spells and rituals that can be meant for the same purposes, but they come with costs."

"What costs," Isaac asked tentatively.

"Those that take lives." Danny finished sourly.

When the room went silent for a few beats, taking it in, it was Peter who broke the silence, shifting by the wall as he spoke. "Your speaking of sacrifices, aren't you?"

"But that doesn't make sense," Scott said. "There's been more than five bodies."

Danny nodded, "Yeah there have been, but the spell calls for five components. Five bodies or five groups? Everything that has been happening, I think this is someone is performing the The Five Fold Sacrifice."

"Which has five groups of sacrifices," Lydia said with her phone in her hands. She was swiping through the screen, reading quickly. "Five groups of three. Listed as virgins, warriors, philosophers, healers, and guardians. It doesn't matter what order as far as I can tell, just that the they have to be completed to make fulfill each part."

"So the people killed represent the components. They represent what they were killed for," Cora said from beside Peter.

"How is this even true," Scott asked from the floor by Isaac. "I mean, who's to say this isn't some lunatic who reads too much Internet. How would they know who is a virgin or a warrior?"

Stiles would admit that Scott made a fair point. However, he wouldn't speak it. Stiles has learned that magic has many uses. "It doesn't, but this is Beacon Hills."

That statement was enough to make everyone reconsider what they first thought. These murders had been going on for months. From what Stiles knew the police, didn't have any leads, not that his dad would say anything. After Heather was found dead Stiles had been wanting to find out what happened. His dad was sure this was not supernatural, but Stiles wasn't sure. He could feel that it was not normal. With this new information, it almost was like something clicked for him. It made sense or at least it was an explanation. They would be crazy to not consider this, given what they all knew. It meant that they had another problem in the Hell that was their town. Aside from the Alpha pack, they had some magic user, using human sacrifices to potentially make themselves stronger. It must be a fucking Thursday!

"I need to talk to Deaton. And we are going to need help," Stiles said finally.

"We can't bring more people into this," Derek said gruffly.

"And we won't, just those who know more about these things than we do. Those who _might_ be able to help."

"What are we going to do about the Alphas," Cora asked instead. Her tone was hard, her face harder. Stiles looked at Derek. He was the Alpha, it wasn't Stiles' place to say anything. He was just there for...well to be honest, he wasn't sure why he was still here. "They are looking for the witch."

"No," Jackson said quickly, standing up to glare at Cora. "No we are not handing Danny over to those lunatics."

"I'm not suggesting that, but the point still stands. They are after a witch, one who helped us, knows us. If they find him or us with him, they will kill all of us."

Boyd shifted to look at Danny from around Erica's curls. "How did you escape the Alpha's?"

Danny was surprised by the question, but stammered over his answer, "Um...magic-"

"Who cares how," Scott said standing up. “The point here is that Danny is alive. The Alpha pack doesn’t know it’s him and he can go back to being normal.”

There was a sense of snark in Scott’s voice, his eyes a little dark, but his face remained puppy dog neutral, like he just making a statement. A naive one.

”What is normal again,” Stiles found himself asking to the room at large. 

Jackson scoffed. “Whatever, we can’t just leave him on his own. The Alphas will jump the first chance they get.”

”We can’t hover around him either, that will surely tip them off,” Boyd said quietly. Stiles was really beginning to like the observant beta. He may be silent but he was by no means ignorant.

"So what we hand him over," Peter said nonchalantly.

Sometimes Stiles wanted to slap the man. Jackson was going red as he stared at the older Hale. Somehow Stiles found himself a little in front of Danny. It wasn't a conscious decision, but one he naturally leaned into. Peter had noticed and there was a glint in his eyes as his mouth lifted the slightest bit at the corners. Peter knew that Stiles was a magic user himself, and he knew that everyone was assuming Danny was the witch to help them. And maybe help Stiles. So far no one has asked about the call Stiles made. No one has asked about why the Alphas seem to think they were tricked by a witch when they left the bank to chase after Stiles.

”No!” Jackson growled. 

Peter ignored him, stepping up closer to Danny and Stiles. Stiles was still in front of Danny, but he knew Peter wasn’t a threat. In fact he was thinking that Peter was finding something comical. His eyes were alight with mirth and his lips were still tilted. 

“I’m curious as to what you did to get the Alpha’s attention. They left chasing after Stiles and yet, they come back looking for you,” he says in a slow manner, conversationally. “What did you do?”

Dammit Peter! He can’t blow what Stiles was. Stiles wasn’t regretting the man ever knowing now. He was also seeing just how much he and Peter thought alike. 

Danny didn’t miss a beat when he answered. “Stiles asked me for help and we came up with a plan. He lured them into the woods and I waited. When he got close enough magic was used to hide us in a tree and another spell to create illusions of him, ones that still ran through the woods. They were a distraction for the Alpha’s until we could leave the woods unnoticed.”

Wow, that was almost verbatim of what happened. The only thing different was where it was Stiles who created the clones and used his magic to further lure the wolves out there, fighting them off a little. Danny was smart in never saying  what he did or did not do, he just implied it. It was clever if you wanted to subtly hide something.

Peter seemed to think so too, his eyes focused on Danny the whole time, calculating and questionable, maybe even intrigued. No doubt ears open and listening to Danny’s heart. Apparently there was no lie to be heard (to all except who knew the truth) because Peter nodded, giving a look of impressiveness beforehand stepping back. He momentarily flicked his gaze to Stiles and Stiles resigned himself to knowing they would be having a conversation some time soon. Oh goody.

“So magic was used to toy with the Alphas,” Cora said. “Maybe it can be used to get rid of them.”

Lydia looked up from her phone then, now taking interest in matters that she wasn't already caught up on. Or maybe she finished reading the web page on the sacrifice rituals, which was also very likely. “What are you thinking?”

"I mean, he is a witch, one who has fooled the Alphas once. Maybe he could help us get rid of them.”

"You mean kill them," Scott said with a disapproving glare aimed at her.

Cora simply rolled her eyes, but barely glanced his way. "If you want to appease to their good nature and take them out for walks then be my guest. I want them gone.”

 _Finally someone not opposed to dog jokes_ , Stiles thought to himself. He liked this girl.

Jackson took a step closer to Danny, who was watching all of this with equal parts amusement and wariness. "We are not using Danny as a weapon.” Jackson said beside Danny. Danny gave a small smile at his friend's protectiveness, but he didn't look at him.

"However it does pose a viable path to consider," Peter said matter-of-factly.

"Danny can be pack." Isaac said with puppy smile.

Danny raised up a hand, "Uh, does Danny get a say?"

Derek's growl rattle through the room, making everyone turn to look at him. He was still standing near the back of the room, but his tight jaw and rigid posture was enough to make them all stop their squabbling. Stiles could feel his Danny shift behind him, his unease humming through the link they shared.

"Enough all of you. No decisions are being made yet." Derek had rumbled between growls.

That may very be, but Stiles had other choices to lay out on the table. "I know someone who would be willing to help. Who better to get rid of werewolves?"

Derek leveled him with a glare, his eyes flashing and his hands clenching beside him as he stood up straighter. "No."

Scott gasped before starting to bounce in place. "I can call the Argents."

Stiles couldn't help the eye roll. He noticed how Isaac was looking at Scott before looking at the floor, his posture seeming to shrink inward. Stiles knew that Scott and Allison broke up, but it seemed like Scott was grasping at any opportunity to see Allison or be near her, since the girl was beside herself at school most days. Stiles didn't want to see her and he could see when both Derek, Eric and Boyd all tensed up.

"How about Isaac calls," Stiles says calmly, earning a shocked look from the beta.

The boy quickly got up, pulling his phone from his pocket. Derek was still growling now, his eyes trained on Isaac and it looked like he was about ready to pounce. The last thing they needed was more fighting. They needed to come up with a way to get rid of at least one of their problems. The revelation of the magic user and these sacrifices was big news, and Stiles wanted to get a head start on trying to figure out what to do about it. However, the Alphas were still a bigger threat, at least a bigger threat to him directly and now to Danny. Stiles didn't trust the pack to make a good decision. If the past was any consolation on that. He knew they would not put Danny in harms way directly, but he wanted to remain in the loop since he and Danny had more...knowledge on things. If it meant Stiles could help behind the scenes, using his magic without the pack knowing it's actually him, then that was a bonus.

Stiles took a deep breath before speaking to the Alpha who was on the verge of losing a battle with his anger. "Hale," he said calmly, earning Derek's eyes on him quickly. They flashed at him, his posture going tenser, but the growling stopped. Stiles forgot about the surname thing. "There are limited choices right now. Sometimes help is needed."

"Your help is not needed Stilinski," Jackson said behind him.

Danny punched him in the arm, earning him a hurt look from Jackson. "Maybe next time I'll leave you to rot underneath your scales," Stiles said, without looking at him.

"I can't turn back into a Kanima. I'm a wolf now," he said with a smirk.

He did turn around then, facing Jackson head on. "You sure about that. You sure there is _absolutely_ no way to earn your scales back," Stiles tauntingly asked, raising an eyebrow. He will always pride himself on his mouth and his quick whit, but more so on what he in fact knew. Stiles had done a lot of reading over the summer and there were ways to make things happen. It may take some time to learn, but Stiles has had enough of Jackson's false superiority.

Jackson's smirk faded under Stiles' stare and Danny snickered beside him, knowing where Stiles' mind was going. When the room fell quiet, Stiles turned back to Derek, "This is all temporary anyway."

There was a hidden meaning under those words. A meaning that Stiles could tell Derek understood. Temporary as in, not just working with the Argent's if all was agreed to, but also Stiles' help. This was a message to Derek, telling him that Stiles would help, so long as Danny is in danger, after that, there will be nothing left to say. Where they all go from there will be determined later. What happens with Danny and the pack, will be figured out. But Stiles has made his choice to leave well enough alone in terms of the pack. When the immediate dangers are done with, he will go back to being on the outside. Stiles asked Derek silently what he was going to do.

Slowly Derek nodded. This led to everyone breaking off to talk and converse on things. Lydia, Jackson and Danny going off to a corner to speak over things, no doubt filling Jackson in on the both of them. Making amends or whatever. Peter talking with Cora heading upstairs to get a few things. Isaac still on the phone with Allison in the kitchen. Erica and Boyd leaning against each other on the floor, turning on the television. This left Stiles and Derek, standing silently on opposite ends of the room. Stiles could still see how tense Derek was. His hand clenching and unclenching as he stood stock still. His eyes on the floor, slouching against the wall. He found himself wondering what the man was thinking, but had a few good guesses. Probably about Argent's ruining everything, potential death for him and the pack either by the Argent's or the Alphas. Replaying everything he learned about Danny and what Stiles knew. Probably angry that yet again he was surrounded by teenagers. Stiles accepted they needed help. He trusted Chris, well a little, Allison, not so much, but he knew Chris would help if he knew Stiles called.

"Derek," Stiles whispered softly, using a little of his magic so only Derek could hear him. Stiles wasn't looking at Derek as he spoke to him, hopefully letting the Alpha hone in on him instead, listening to his heart, and watching his every move. "Will you trust me...for once," Stiles said, his voice a little unsteady. It was the first bit of emotion he allowed to show Derek willingly.

Stiles didn't look to him for an answer, he didn't expect one. Instead, what he got was Scott, walking up to him, a sheepish look on his face. Stiles knew what was coming. It didn't mean his stomach dropped at the words passing Scott's mouth, making his emotions rise.

"Stiles, can we talk?"


	26. A Harsh Cry from Delicacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup yall. Sorry for the lateness. It seems I'll be posting bi-weekly now with school and work going on, I can't find a lot of time to write. Don't worry I aint giving up until this story had a THE END on it. I will prevail! As always love you all and your support. Let me know how you like this chapter! Hugs!

Stiles didn't say anything as he turned towards the door, not bothering to tell Scott to follow. He was heading down the stairs whenever he heard Scott's footfalls behind him, even then he still didn't turn around. He could feel the tenseness and the anxiety coming from Danny in the loft, but Stiles hoped his own emotions was enough to settle the boy. Danny knew how hard Stiles found it to be in the same room as Scott. For months Stiles has been avoiding Scott, putting off this inevitable conversation. He didn't want to have it, but he knew that he needed to. There was so much he had to say, but he didn't know if he could without breaking apart. He kept his emotions buried, the only indication was his magic knowing full well how he felt. It was best if the others didn't hear their conversation. It was best if they didn't see the once two best friends revisit a memory that held so much turmoil for Stiles, whether Scott saw it that way or not.

They didn't speak as they descended the stairwell. The only sounds were their steps on the metal stairs, the clanging sounding deafening in the extended silence. When Stiles pushed his way out the door to the parking lot, he let himself take a deep breath, knowing that it might be the last one he could fully take before this conversation was over with. He walked to his jeep, leaning back against the front bumper, keeping his posture relaxed, despite his palms sweating just a little. It was odd, how he seemed more at ease facing monsters and creatures on his own with only his wits and his training in both magic and combat to fall back on, and yet having a talk with Scott was making him have flutters in his stomach. The other boy seemed just as nervous, but kind of confused. He kept looking around like he wasn't aware of why they were out here, but was fine with the change of scenery. He stuffed his hands in his back pockets, looking at Stiles with a coy smile.

"What do you want Scott," Stiles asked, wanting to just rip the band-aid off.

Scott's smile shrunk a little, but he shrugged his shoulder like Stiles' tone didn't phase him. "I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry." That earned a hitched eyebrow from Stiles and the young wolf continued, "I wish I had known about Gerard. I had no idea. I had no idea that he would do something like that."

"Really, Scott.” Stiles said. It wasn't a question, more of a statement, dripping in sarcasm to mask the angered grief Stiles felt as his nerves left him. "You worked with him, spoke with the man. You sure you couldn’t piece it together on what he was like?"

"No dude really. I was as blind sided as you were."

Stiles felt the rise of his magic then at those words. Blind sided? How stupid does Scott think Stiles is? "Please Scott. I'm very much aware of your ignorance, but even I didn't think it would make you abandon reason."

"Stiles-"

"No Scott," Stiles said over him, ignoring his shocked face. He couldn't ignore his feelings forever. Right now he didn't really want to. Not if Scott was going to say he was _shocked_ at what Gerard was capable of. Peter even knew what the man was like, he just never thought he would stoop to such a level to ride out his hatred. Gerard hated werewolves, possibly all creatures that were not human, that could be viewed as superior to them, and it made him act out in fear and jealousy. Scott was an idiot if he thought the man was ever good if he trusted the man enough to not harm someone to get what he wanted. "I am sick and tired of listening to your excuses."

Scott stood stunned for a moment, before his face twisted into irritation like Stiles was an acting out child. "My excuses. I’m just telling you how it was. What had happened. How was I to know? You disappeared in the middle of the field and I had to go help Jackson."

"But not me right? Not your best friend? You didn’t find that my disappearance was of concern, so long as your plan was not harmed you didn’t think twice about what happened to me."

Scott had the decency to look guilty about that, but his voice remained clipped when he spoke. "I thought you ran from the field. I thought you went home and didn’t want to be around the crowd."

Stiles nodded, clenching his fists behind him, keeping a tight lid on his emotions. "I am well aware of what you thought. Is that really how low you think of me?"

"Yes-I mean no." Scott exhaled a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his hair, making it stick up some. "I thought...come on dude we both know you don’t like being surrounded by people. We both know you are not used to that kind of stuff and that you have panic attacks on things you overthink or that your anxious  about."

"Yet still instead of checking on me, you left me. Your best friend, who you're supposed to have his back for, only to ditch the slightest chance you get."

"No-"

"Shut up just shut up Scott. You don’t get to belittle this. You don’t get to make excuses. That night is forever seared into my mind and no matter how hard I try to forget it Scott, I _can't_. No matter how hard I try to forget the pain that man and his hunters made me suffer through, it won't go away. It is forever marked on my body and I can't run from it."

"Stiles-"

"You could have come to me," he said instead. "You could have told me about what he was doing. That he was threatening you, your mom. But, you didn't."

"I couldn't risk someone else knowing. If you knew, then it was bound to get out. Word would have gotten to Derek or the others, I had to keep it a secret until Gerard wasn’t a threat anymore," Scott said with confidence, not knowing the hurt it caused Stiles at the words.

"You couldn't risk your best friend knowing?" Stiles muttered more to himself. He felt a wave of disappointment, of betrayal pass through him, enforcing the already there emotions inside him. "Like I don't have secrets? Like I haven't kept your secret from others, never once breaking it. Have you not realized that everyone who has found out about you has found out _because_ of you and not me. Like Allison for instance, or Melissa, even Jackson suspected because you had no sense to learn to control your new abilities after getting turned?"

"This was different."

"Different as in, you didn't trust me. That seems to be a recurring trait among you wolves."

"Huh?"

Stiles waived him off. "You know Scott, I thought you would come that night. I held out thinking that you would burst in and stop it all. With Derek or even Isaac by your side. Instead, I had to do it all myself. I will not tell you how I managed to survive and save your ass from stupid plan, but I did. It was only to find that my best friend didn't want me there, didn't trust me to have his back. And given how you didn't have mine, when I needed you the most, it wasn't a far stretch."

”What? Of course I trust you man. Your my best friend.”

”No Scott, I’m not. I haven’t been your best friend in quite some time. Danny is my best friend.”

Scott growled at him. “Fine. I realize I have made some mistakes but you can’t blame me for yours. You can’t  blame me for not being there when you should have known to keep out of it. Your human. Delicate and-and soft. And-

Scott wasn’t able to finish when Stiles punches him. Using his strength and a little of his magic to make it so Scott couldn’t block it. The crunch of the wolf’s nose breaking was both satisfying and heartbreaking. Stiles had to reign in husband magic, plant himself firmly on the ground as he watched Scott stumble back just a little to shock and discomfort on his Face before he looked at stiles with wide eyes. Stiles never thought he would hurt Scott, physically hurt him like this, but he couldn't stop himself. It was too much. Every word Scott said was bringing back the memories, the terrors that kept Stiles awake at night. The knowledge that he was the weak, soft human. No matter how hard he tried, it seemed even his best friend thought he needed saving. The worst of it was, that night, Stiles did. He did need saving, he needed help, and it took absolute terror, pain, and desperation to unlock his own way of saving himself.

“I am not delicate,” Stiles calmly but with such venom and darkness that Scott took another step back.

"Do you realize you are putting it all on me? You are _victim blaming_. How can you judge me, ridicule my choices when you don’t even know the whole story? I don’t know when you became so hardheaded, so self absorbed and selfish, but let me clarify what mistakes I _have_ made. I made the mistake of helping you to understand what was happening to you after you got bit. I helped you to realize what you refused to see. I made the mistake of letting your infatuation and lust for Allison rule your goddamn wolf senses, while I was trying to help stop Peter from his rampage and then Jackson from becoming Gerard's puppet. I made the mistake of being brushed off, tossed away, and ignored by you-both in person and by calls-when I needed you, all so you could point your dick towards Allison and then gloat and whine about your life to Isaac. Lucky for you, you got predictable, it was Allison, Allison, _Allison._  I have taken a backseat in your life since you and little Ms. Huntress has become an item, and I never thought you would be so selfish to ignore others in your life."

"That is not true," Scott said stubbornly, wiping away the blood from his nose with his sleeve as it finished healing.

"Really," Stiles said snidely. "Where were you when Peter tried to kill me and Derek at the nursing home? Where were you when he bit Lydia on the field at Homecoming, where I had to take her to the hospital, after the man kidnapped me in an effort to scare me to get you to realize that he was toying with you, could hurt you if he wanted? Where were you when I called you from the pool, holding an paralyzed Derek for over two hours, needing your help so neither of us drowned as the Kanima was circling us? Where were you when I was kidnapped again, beaten and tortured as a message to you?"

"I-I" Scott tried, only to be cut off.

"You have pushed me aside ever since Allison came into your life. I get it, first love, and all that jazz, but your head has been shoved so far up her ass, that you refuse to acknowledge others around you unless it deals with Allison. You have gone above and beyond to please her, to be the puppy with big eyes."

Scott shook his head. "Not true."

"Oh no," Stiles asked curiously, with a slight edge of sarcasm. "Did you tell her about her mom? Did you tell her the truth about her death? That the woman was trying to kill you in her blind hate for werewolves, that she wanted to end your life in order to prevent her daughter from dating you. That Derek had to come in to save you, being poisoned by aerosoled wolfsbane that he accidentally bit her in order to get her away from him so he couldn't be killed in the process. So that you both could survive. Did you ever tell her that, or did you let her think that Derek was the bad guy, while you got to comfort her?" Scott remained silent, letting him continue. "A lot of good that did. Seeing as how she went off the deep end, helping Gerard to kidnap Erica and Boyd."

"What no," Scott said then. "That wasn't her."

Stiles just gave him a look, a dark look that spoke of both his idiocy and his blindness of seeing Allison like she hung the moon. "Seems like everyone is making mistakes nowadays. Yet here you are thinking you can be normal, even after everything we have seen, everything we have done. Guess what Scott life isn’t normal. There is no more normal. It's a fucking fairy tale!"

”No because Derek took my chance to be normal so he could have power," Scott said, red in the face, his voice rumbling as he spoke and reigned in his wolf.

Stiles looked at his former best friend speculatively, then put the pieces together. "Is that what this is all about? Still? You are still pissed at Derek because he killed Peter?"

"He is a bad guy, Stiles," the other boy said, throwing up his hands like it was obvious. "Why am I the only one who seems to clearly get that? He is bad and untrustworthy, selfish and thinks he can walk over everyone. Even his own pack."

Stiles had to give a few of those to Scott, but then it was ironic how much Scott was missing. "Yeah he is. I mean he cured Erica's epilepsy, no longer having her suffer attacks and tests, a shutting down body for the rest of her-what _would_ be a short life, gave Isaac the strength to escape from his abusive asshole father who beat him black and blue, and locked him up in a freezer as punishment almost every night, gave Boyd friends and maybe one day a surrogate family since his real one doesn't give a damn about him. Let's not forget all the times he has save our lives at the risk of his own." Scott had the slight decency to look shameful at Derek's highlights. Stiles had no idea why he was defending Derek to Scott, but he couldn't stop. He felt like this was something he had to drill into Scott. "But its not like he lied, manipulated the people close to him, worked with a geriatric psycho who took pleasure in killing and torture, just to betray them to that same psycho and then act like he got the Nobel Peace Prize because of it."

Scott realized what Stiles said after a few seconds, before going red all over again. "I had no choice! He was threatening my mom, Allison even."

"I am well aware of what that man is capable of. You seem to keep forgetting that I was at the end of his more well known skills." Stiles snarked back quietly, coldly. "The point of the matter is, you lied to me, you lied to Derek about being part of his pack, wanting to work together, knowing how much it meant to him and then you used him, used what he valued against him. You are no better than Gerard, or even Kate." Scott goes pale after those words are spoken. His eyes wide like Stiles had just turned into a monster in front of him. In all but name, Scott sees his brother point out what everyone else considers his darkest moments. "You have made some serious mistakes, screwing up, and hurting people, just as much as the rest of us. I am no fool to say I haven't made mistakes, I have, I made a lot of them, but don't you ever say that I brought the pain and horror of that night on myself. You have no problem pointing out everyone else's mistakes, yet choose to ignore yours."

"I never asked for this life," Scott said, his eyes giving a soft glisten to their edges at Stiles' words. Stiles never raised his voice over his points, never spoke loudly with emotion, just detachment. A softness that was a stark contrast to the situation. It somehow made him seem crueler, but Stiles didn't let it phase him. Stiles was not letting this blow over. Not anymore. "I wanted to go back to being normal."

Stiles took a deep breath, lowering his voice as he tried to keep himself planted on the spot so he wouldn't go over and shake Scott. "Scott I have read every book and source I could find out there, everything that spoke of this issue. There is no evidence anywhere that you killing Peter would have given you a magical 'cure'. What would have happened, is it would have turned you into the Alpha. What then? Where do you think all the power and aggression would have gone? It would have torn you apart."

"No, no I would have..." Scott tied to protest but went silent as Stiles leveled him with a glare.

"No you wouldn't have Scott. Even Deaton knows you would have stayed a werewolf, you would have become an Alpha. Something you do not desire nor know how to handle. You are not meant to be an Alpha, whether you think you can be or not. Derek was never meant to be an Alpha, proven so by his mistakes, but that is because he was never taught, never coached on it. His sister was. Remember? Laura was meant to be the Alpha after their mother. Despite his faults, Derek has been blind and guessing as he goes."

Scott looked at him with a searching look. "Since when are you defending Derek?"

Unperturbed by the interruption, Stiles said, "I always knew what Derek was lacking. I knew it the moment I learned that Laura was the Alpha before she got killed. Derek was never trained or ever brought up to be Alpha. I can say I didn't always agree with him, but I never put him out to be power hungry. He took the power because he had to. You wouldn't have been able to handle it Scott. You couldn't even kill an old man who was terrorizing your family, even his family, the guy who used the Kanima to kill and threaten people, the man who kidnapped and tortured a couple of teenagers in his basement." Scott flinched at those words, but Stiles went on. "What makes you think you would have been able to kill Peter? Who was a burnt, wounded and bleeding, crazy yes, but no less reduced to a heap of trembling flesh when he knew he was going to die? You never would have done it Scott. Not ever, because it is not in you. If you had done it, it would have torn you to pieces, knowing you had taken a life to better your own."

"Could you have," Scott asked after a moment of silence, looking at Stiles sullenly, his face still pale, ashamed.

Stiles was a little take aback by that question. He had never been asked that question before. Maybe once he would have said, no he never would have been able to take a life. He would have found another way. But those words would never be able to leave his lips. So much has changed over the summer. So much has changed that Scott didn't know. "Depends," he found himself say instead.

"I'm sorry," Scott said. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I betrayed you. I just...I didn't want to risk anyone knowing. I wanted to do it myself. I wanted to show Gerard that he couldn't manipulate and trust me."

Stiles nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. "You did. At the expense of others' trust in you. And you didn't betray me Scott. You betrayed Derek and the others. You weren't _there_ for me. When I needed you there, when I needed you to notice, to care, you were no where to be found. I have been your best friend for years, since we were seven. Ten years. I should be one of the people you care most about, but it seems that I'm not. At least no anymore."

"What, no of course you are," Scott said nodding his head quickly. "You are important to me. You are my brother, how could I not care?"

"I have been asking myself the same thing. I know you want to be normal Scott. But it's too late for that. You will not go back to the asthmatic, bench warming, awkward, random kid to roam Beacon Hills High. You need to learn to accept it. You need to stop putting your head in the sand, thinking it will all blow over. It doesn't work that way. If you want to be pack then you need to atone for what you did. You need to ask for forgiveness and mean it."

Scott looked confused, which wasn't a shocker. "I am in a pack."

Stiles scoffed. "No your not. You are an Omega. A lone wolf because you have elected that. You have refused to accept Derek as your Alpha because of your idiotic grudge against him, because of what you refuse to accept. This is the result. Omega's don't have packs. You may have Isaac, but that is it as far as I can see. That is not a pack. Wolves without packs eventually go feral, they get too lost in their loneliness that they lose themselves. You need connections, ones that are accepted fully, by both you and the wolf."

The crooked jawed boy looked scolded, looked defeated and Stiles thought maybe he had gotten something through his thick skull. Maybe he had made Scott see that he has some major groveling to do. Hopefully it would mean that Scott get his act together. 

"I love you Scott," Stiles said finally, making the boy look up at him with sad eyes. "I do and I always will. But I do not like you right now. I do not trust you. Your stubbornness and naivety has made you shine in a harsh light and I can't help you with that. You brought this on yourself and have made the choices that got you here. I will always be you brother, but I am not your friend and surely not your best friend. Much has changed over the summer and you have not done much to rectify any of it."

"I'm sorry," Scott said again, tears rolling down his cheeks as Stiles said his peace. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm so sorry."

"I forgive you," Stiles said honestly, wholeheartedly. At Scott's look of surprised and relief, he held up his hand. "But forgiveness is easy. Forgetfulness is not. I cannot forget everything that has happened. Maybe with time, but not now."

Scott looked stricken, but at the same time he looked relieved. Like he had a weight lifted from Stiles words. Maybe it was a weight lifted. Maybe Stiles giving him a kick in the ass and a punch to the nose was what he needed. Scott now just had to take all of this information, all of his faults and make up for them. It may have been harsh, but Stiles understood tough love. He would always love Scott, but he would not be the one to bail him out. He would not be the one to clean up after Scott so he could feign normalcy. Stiles has seen more than enough monsters, even those without teeth, claws, and abilities, to know that normal was so far gone from his life. As of right now, he gave Scott what he needed to make see differently. Perhaps one day, Stiles would tell Scott about everything he hadn't mentioned. One day they could go back to being friends, even close friends.

"Now," Stiles began, "we have other problems to deal with, so let's go."

Without another word, he turned around and went back inside. Scott followed at a slow, more sedate pace, a reaction from being chastised and punched, but at least nose wasn't bleeding anymore. Stiles had no doubt the others would be able to smell the blood and maybe even Scott's emotions, but he was fine with that. It was his emotions he cared about. For the most part he kept a lid on it all. He was still frustrated, angry, and hurt, but he said what he needed to. He said what he needed to get off his chest, at what a good portion of his hurt and anger has come from. Scott was only part of the issue. It was a certain Sourwolf who was the next issue.

Coming back inside the loft, they found all eyes on them. Everyone watched them curiously. Stiles finding some of them sniffing the air, no doubt noticing the blood on Scott's sleeve and his array of emotions. Everyone seemed to look away quickly after taking a look at Scott. The boy in question went over to sit on the love seat with Isaac, both not saying anything, but not really needing to. Peter seemed a little pleased as he followed Scott's movements before looking at Stiles as he made his way further into the room. Derek, never took his eyes off Stiles, his expression unreadable. Upon coming up to the large window where Peter and Derek stood with Lydia, he spoke.

"So we have more than one enemy and little time. What have we decided?"

*** * * * * * ***

Their days were up.

Derek had wanted to train the wolves, but they didn't have the time. They had barely hours now before they had to move on the Alpha's. Derek had Cora send a message to the Alphas, knowing that she had a way to get a hold of them. She had reached out to the twins at the school earlier that day, telling them that they had the witch. Giving them a time and place to make the exchange with Deucalion, wanting to get this over with. The twins left the school soon after, no doubt going to give the news. Little did they know, it was a ruse.

The Argent's had still been a topic to be discussed. Anytime they were brought up, the atmosphere would become tense. Everyone was wary of the hunters. It was with good reason, but still. Stiles was wondering when he became the mediator between the Argent's and the Hale's. Yes most of the wolves had a right to be pissed and even avoid any kind of alliance with the hunters but shouldn’t they consider their other options, which is to you know...die.

Stiles had just as much reason to hate the Argent's as anyone of them, maybe even more so in some cases. What with him being kidnapped, tortured, nearly raped and killed by the patriarch of the family, along with knowing that his friends were human pin cushions for a certain huntress who went off the deep end because of what she was led and manipulated to believe. Stiles has many reasons, in the form of physical and mental, to hate that family. But over the months since, he has gotten to know at least one Argent better. And while Stiles does not trust him completely he trusts him enough to want to help with something like this. 

That was the argument he made. He didn't tell them all everything, but he did say that Chris has taken step to not only find his father, but to also make sure the man's resources were dwindling. Stiles had spoken to Chris over the phone the night before, telling him what was going on. The man had told him a few things, but needed time to think, time to gather some other information. He told Stiles a couple things about what he did know from the grapevine of the Hunter community, namely Gerard, but otherwise nothing more.

Plans were being thrown out there and then thrown out when negative points were brought up. They had the Alpha pack and then this masochistic witch to deal with. But one problem at a time, and the Alpha's were the most pressing one. It took most of that previous night to make a plan, each of the betas thinking of what they could do, ultimately Peter, Derek, Stiles, and Lydia thinking strategically. They were on a time table and it was running out fast. Which is why Stiles was over at the Argent house, trying to persuade Chris to come to the meeting point, guns and ammo at the ready to help while the pack was on the ground. Danny and Lydia had gone with him, one as support for Stiles and as persuasion. Lydia was still friends with Allison even though it was strained. The little huntress was no doubt going to be hearing a few things and may not want to stand by without saying anything herself. Stiles had explained everything to Chris in his living room, told him the plan, everything from the time of the meet to the blind side of having the whole pack as well as hunters trying to stop the Alpha's. 

Chris didn't like it. The Alpha pack was strong, ruthless, didn't care who they hurt. No to mention Deucalion was smart and cunning. He especially didn't like the human, namely Stiles, Danny, or Lydia being present, even if they did have weapons. Chris knew that Stiles could handle himself, what with his training and all, but it was still something he didn't like. Stiles tried hard not to roll his eyes at that. He kept looking at his watch, monitoring the time. They still had hours before they had to meet the Alphas. Hopefully it wouldn't take so long to convince Chris of the plan. Also where was Allison?

 

Derek had a sinking feeling in his gut. One that wouldn't go away. He thought it could be from the impending fight that was going to happen, but he was growing more unsure of that. They were all at the loft, all the wolves, getting ready to head out the door. The whole room was shaking with nervous energy, a feeling of dread over them as they all realized this may be the last night they would be alive. Derek hated seeing them all so quiet, smelling the acrid stench of fear under the nerves, but it wasn't like he himself was immune to it. It would be wrong of him to say that this was normal for him. 

Looking around the room, he took in all the face. All of his betas, his sister and Peter, even Scott who stood off to the side with Isaac. Derek was still surprised he was here, that he agreed to be here for the plan, but he wasn't going to dispute it. Scott was one of the most experienced wolves beside the Hales, so he needed all the hands he could use. It was selfish maybe, but it was either they fight, or they all die. The sinking feeling increased as he thought. He didn't want to die, but he especially didn't want the others, these kids to die. He just found his little sister again. He just got back some version of an uncle he was growing used to. He didn't want to be the reason these kids would die, because he drew them into this world. Because of his selfishness, his fear and arrogance, causing him to make terrible choices. Yet here they were about the go to battle and the cold feeling of death was very possibly going to be a real thing. Derek didn't want this for them. He wanted better. He wanted them to be a pack first. A real one. Like his family was.

 "What happened to waiting for help?" Jackson asked beside him, breaking him from his thoughts.

He turned around to look at the arrogant teen, taking in the rigid lines of his shoulders, the tinge of sweat and fear coming from him. The boy was afraid, something he probably would never admit. "We do not need help from the Argent's," he said gruffly.

"Meaning you do not trust Stiles to get their help," Peter said from the stairs. "Otherwise you would not have told him a wrong time or place where we were meeting the Alpha's."

Derek shook his head. He swallowed the lump in his throat, but refused to feel defensive. "That is not what I said."

"You didn't have to, nephew."

"I don't want him there. Any of the humans. The Alpha's will not think twice about hurting them."

"Oh now you care about what happens to him," Peter said with a smirk. Derek ignored the confused looks from his betas. Before any of them could speak, Derek did first.

He growled, "I want this over with."

"That wasn't a no," Cora muttered as she leaned against the stairs beside Peter who smirked wider.

"So what are we going to do?" Jackson asked between his teeth.

Derek pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. He had thought they covered all of this when they told the humans the wrong time. Letting them go to the Argent's where they would be safe, while they left to meet the Alpha's ahead of the time they told them. "We will not give them what they want. They make no guarantee of letting us live even if we did decide to hand the witch over."

"His name is Danny," Jackson said in an annoyed huff.

"I like Danny," Erica said to no one in particular which made Jackson growl.

"We could use him you know." Peter had said softly, contemplating. "Witches may not possess claws or strength, but they have magic. It is possible he could help."

"No," both Derek and Jackson said together. Even Scott was shaking his head.

Derek huffed a sigh, putting his phone in his pocket. "The less humans involved the better. We do not have the time to let Danny work out spells. We have three fronts on them. Scott and Isaac will come from the east, Jackson, Boyd, and Erica from the west. We will be the ones to meet them head on."

"Not to mention of what would happen if we lose," Erica said slowly. At everyone's look to her, she says, "They would still get Danny, if we brought him. If we lose, we would have made it easy for them to get their prize. Revealing who he is as well as bringing him to them."

Scott shook his head. "No Danny stays away."

Derek didn't know what Stiles and Scott talked about earlier, but he knew it was not a fun conversation. Scott has been reeking of sadness, guilt, and even anger ever since they came back in. The smell of blood on him was even more astounding to him, making him really wonder what happened between the two friends. Derek had learned that Scott's working with Gerard had been a sore spot for Stiles, but he didn't understand how much. He was starting to see it. Any mention of Stiles being near the fight, made the boy tense up, his eyes going hard, but he never said spoke of it when Stiles was near. The boy seemed subdued somehow. When Derek came up with this alternative plan, Scott was the first to agree. Saying he wanted Stiles and the others safe and well enough away from it all. Derek had been surprised, but said nothing.

Derek nodded, knowing all of them knew the risks of they were taking. The Alphas' wanted power and they couldn't let them have it. Derek wasn't going to join them and he most certainly wasn't going to help them get more. "Now let's go. We need to get into place and get prepared."

With that the betas left. The roof emptying slowly as everyone looked like they were going on a death march, which was a little accurate. Derek prayed it didn't come to that. He prayed lives would not be lost tonight.

"You are not going to even tell Stiles about this," Peter asked beside him as they headed to the door.

Derek didn’t want Stiles involved anymore than he was. After learning about Gerard, learning about what had happened to him without Derek knowing even long after, it set Derek on an edge that he didn’t understand. He saw the scar, the proof, the reminder of the message Stiles was meant to be. He didn’t want that message to become a reality. He didn’t want another message to be made. The Alphas have already given him messages, plenty in the form of blood and violence. He didn’t want there to be a innocent death because of him. 

He had underestimated Stiles and his knack for trouble. But he also was wrong on how strong willed Stiles was. The boy was as resilient as he was resourceful. Derek made many bad choices in his life, but he realized that Stiles was not what he first perceived him to be. It made Derek question himself, question his choices as Alpha anytime he saw the teen. Stiles fought him on everything and it made his hackles rise and yet it made his wolf rumble. Something he couldn’t understand. Why was his wolf parallel to Stiles when Derek himself was at odds?

Was it because of Derek himself? Or was it more than that?

No stiles needed to stay away. All the humans did. So it was best that they were at the Argent's. He didn’t trust the hunters anyway. It was best they didn’t know. It was was safer and Derek would take that over the darker alternative.

"It's better this way."

"Better for who?"

Derek didn't have an answer to that question. As tentative as their working together has been over the past few days, Derek wasn't able to put Stiles in a position like this. A position of danger. Sure Stiles might be pissed later, but Derek would deal with it after they all survived. 

Hopefully.

*** * * * * * ***

Turns our, hope was something that came by a pick of the draw. And it was not their lucky turn. 

Stiles was furious. Furious and incredibly pissed. He was also nearly terrified. His magic was nearly pushing out of his body and the lights flickered in his house a couple times. He had been going nearly out of his mind for hours. He somehow managed to convince Chris to help. Helping him gather guns and weapons into a trunk to take to their meeting place. Stiles had tried calling Peter and got voicemail. Which was odd. He tried calling Derek next, still finding it odd how he had the broody wolf's number. Voicemail. He even called Scott and still nothing. Lydia tried calling Jackson, same with Danny. None of them got anything. Stiles felt his stomach drop and the hair stand up on his skin as felt the first chills of fear. They all rushed back to the loft, looking for the pack, only to find it empty. Chris thought they might have left early to set up, so instead they turned to head to the meeting place at the Preserve park a little outside the town limit.

Lo and behold, no one was there. The surge of terror rocked through Stiles, before settling on anger. Realizing what had happened, he tried calling all the pack, with nothing but voicemails. It seemed to click for all of them at once that they were duped. They were lied to. Why? Why were they lied to? Stiles knew the answer to that. Derek and the others didn't want them there. It wasn't about the distrust of Chris Argent, it was because of them being human. It was about them being _soft and delicate_. It infuriated Stiles, it pissed Lydia and even Danny off. Surprisingly Danny wanted to help, despite his views on the pack and Derek, he still wanted to help. They were all deprived of that.

Stiles could feel his magic surge through in in waves, like constant push and pull inside him at his anger, annoyance, and hurt. His fear at what they had done. What would happen to them? If he wasn't there, how could he help them? He planned on helping using his magic, even subtlety to give them an edge, but that wasn't going to happen now. What have they done? Where did they go? Were they okay, were they hurt, or even alive? He could feel a panic attack coming as his breathing became more shallow, his magic making his eyes glow and make the leaves on the ground fly him. He felt the solid weight of arm wrap around him, holding him tightly to a solid body, a muscled chest, and then another pair of arms around around his waist. Two separate breaths on his skin as he tried to maintain his calm. Danny and Lydia held onto him, keeping him steady, Danny offering his grounding link, sending waves of comforting emotions to Stiles, while Lydia provided support for him in gentle reassurances, squeezing his sides softly. They both brought him back from panic, bringing him back to anger.

That was how they went back to his house. They were angry, hurt, scared, and exhausted. They kept trying to call the pack, hoping any of them would pick up, but to no avail. Chris went back to his place, telling them to call him when they heard anything. At this point they didn't know what else to do. Stiles wanted to track down the pack, but he wasn't sure he could right now. His magic was on the fritz and he didn't have anything on hand to track anyone. So they sat in his living room, his dad at the station, waiting in silence. Stiles was petting Luna, her soft weight next to him on the couch a small comfort to the raging emotions inside him. Danny was sitting in his dad's chair, knee bouncing anxiously. Lydia was on the floor, trying to still call Jackson or Isaac. All they could do was wait.

They didn't wait for too long, around the time they originally agree to meet the Alpha's which was well past dark and past midnight, they heard a rumbling outside. When the pack had stumbled in, looking ragged, bloody, torn clothes, and their pinched and somber faces, they all jumped up. There wasn't time for anger or terseness. The three humans huddled around the pack, making them sit on the floor as they looked at their lingering injuries. Luna was anxious herself as she went from wolf to wolf, sniffing and whining as she got to notice the pain and blood in the air. Stiles barely noticed that Allison was here, having come in with the pack. She wasn't hurt, but she seemed dazed, like she didn't know what think or even do. She was dressed in black with her bow and arrow, which she held tightly, but made no move for anything else as she stared at the floor next to Isaac. When everyone was cleaned up some, wiping away blood and resetting bones, Stiles lost it.

"What the fuck is wrong with all of you!"

The force of his shout was emphasized by the flicker of the light again and a whimper from Luna. Even some of the wolves hunched in on themselves. It didn't really deter Stiles though. 

"Do you all have a death wish? What happened to the plan? The plan we all came up with, one where we had numbers, a strategy. Ring any bells? We may not be a pack, but we sure as hell could have pretended for one fucking night that we were so that this didn't go badly."

All of the wolves whined some more, some flinching at his words. Even Erica and Boyd looked at him like he wounded them. Stiles was angry. He was pissed. He felt like he wanted to give each wolf a thrashing. Even Peter who looked like he felt guilty was going to get a piece of Stiles' mind. Lydia and Danny regarded each of the wolves lividly, both of them wanting to say a few things too, but letting Stiles to the screaming for them, because at least he knew where to start. How could they think this was a good idea? Did they even win? Did Derek come up with this plan of lying to the three of them in order to protect them? Oh he was going to chew Derek's ass out. That egotistical, moronic martyr of a werewolf. He was going to wish he didn’t have super hearing after Stiles was done. He wasn’t going-wait a minute.

"Where is Derek," Stiles asked, realizing for the first time that he was missing. Now that he thought about it, he didn't come in with them. He didn't even remember seeing him. He noticed how Isaac flinched and Cora curled in on herself, something he couldn't imagine the tough wolf doing until now. When no one said anything, he turned to Peter. "Where is he?"

Peter didn't say anything. His face did it for him, grim set, hollow eyes. He shook his head. That meant nothing to Stiles. He wanted words dammit. Why wasn't anyone saying anything? What did that mean? Stiles could feel his fear rise up inside him again. He could feel his heart clench and his shiver run down his spine. Was...was he? No, no, no that couldn't be it. It meant they didn't know where he was, right. That maybe Derek just went off on his own to clean up or finish burning energy. That was all. Derek was not...

Stiles wouldn't think of it. He couldn't think of the possibility. It was _not_ a possibility. There was still so much to do. Derek still had a pack, he still had to get over his Sourwolf ass, buck up, and actually lead them. He had to teach them to fight. How to hone their senses. He had to teach them to _be_ a pack. He had to be a nephew to Peter and a brother to Cora. He had to be an Alpha to the others and a friend to them. He still had yet to learn to trust people again. Stiles still had yet to forgive him, and now, was there even a chance? No, this couldn't happen. This wasn't happening.

"I'll be back," he said suddenly. He moved quickly grabbing his keys from the table, heading towards the door.

"Where are you going." He heard behind him. He didn't even know who it was that spoke. He had a ringing in his ears and a rock in his gut.

Stiles didn't answer them, he just left. He got in his jeep and he left. He drove past the school, heading to the train depot. He was going to all the places he knows Derek knows about. He will go to every place Derek has made a den at. A place where Derek could recover if needed. He uncovered zilch at the depot. He went to the old Hale house in the Preserve. Searching the old ruins and calling out Derek's name. He used his magic to put out feelers for the Alpha and still came up empty. The growing knot in his chest was becoming tighter and the weight in his stomach worse. His fear was becoming terror and he was running out of options. He drove through town, keeping an eye out for the wolf, looking for leather jacket, dark clothes, and maybe anyone looking hurt. Eventually making his way back to the loft. By that time it was nearly dawn. The sky was lightening more and more. Stiles was exhausted, sweating as he continued his search. He had gotten messages from Danny, Lydia, even Peter and Scott. All of them asking where he was and to come back. He didn't respond and he didn't listen. He searched the whole town, looking for any signs of a surly werewolf. He wasn't going to stop until he found him. He had to know. He had to find him.

The images in his mind were too dark to put to words or to ever encourage into reality. He couldn't think that. Derek was not dead. Stiles refused to accept that. Stupid Sourwolf and his stupid arrogance. He bitches and moans about Stiles' being putting himself in danger, yet it is okay if he ends up being a martyr. Stupid, stupid wolf!

He pulled up to the building that house the loft. Not waiting before heading up to the top floor, not bothering to wait for the elevator, but taking the stairs. He was going slower than he wanted, but he was drained. His muscles hurt, his magic was rolling in his body, his emotions being it's driving influence. He wanted to go home and sleep, never mind the nightmares. He just had to be sure. He had to know. When he came upon the loft door, he nearly through it open with his magic, not wanting to bother with it. What stopped him was a sound. A sound that stopped him in his tracks as he reached the large metallic sliding wall before him.

It was loud enough to breach through the small crack separating the door from the threshold wall, loud enough for Stiles to pick up. He also felt something like a slap, something that made his skin tingle and his magic grow warmer and his hairs rise. Quietly he pressed closer to the cool door, listening. What Stiles heard, he couldn't believe. It was giggles, the sound of panting, hard breaths, the squeaks of springs...bed springs. If he listened close enough, he could hear the sound of a lighter voice, higher in octave, female.

There was someone inside. Someone he didn't recognize. He was about to go in a demand what they were doing here, when he heard that voice speak again. This time saying Derek's name.

Stiles froze, his insides going cold and his heart thumping. The rock in his gut dropping lower, making him feel uncomfortable and sick. Derek? Derek was here? He was alive? He pressed his ear closer to the crack, listening more, feeling bile in his throat rise as the pants and giggles came through, rustling sounds hit his ears. He didn't care if Derek knew he was there or not. He couldn't believe Derek was alive and...apparently undisturbed enough to be... Stiles wanted to be angry, he wanted to feel annoyed or hurt that Derek was at home, despite all the calls Stiles sent him. Despite all the trouble of trying to find him. The man's pack was thinking he was dead. Yet he was here, in his own place, right past the door Stiles stood at, with a woman. It wasn't hard to guess what was going on or what was happening or going to happen, whatever. 

He leaned his head against the cool metal, feeling it cool his heated skin, his throat felt dry and rough, hard to swallow and just as difficult to take in air.

How could he do this? How could Derek be this selfish? Better question is why did Stiles care? Stiles wasn't his pack. Stiles wasn't anything to him. Yet he was the one looking for him. Looking to ensure that the pack was wrong and their leader, their Alpha wasn't dead. That Stiles was worrying for nothing. All his fears were misplaced. Derek was fine, more than fine apparently. So why should Stiles care what he was doing? It wasn't like Stiles had any misgivings about Derek and how little he meant to the man, but still. The pack was another story right?

Stiles shouldn't care. They weren't friends. Stiles had held out on the hope that that would change one day, but it was a fool's hope. He accepted that. Yet the feeling of dread still lingered on him. The feeling of fear and the thought of pale, lifeless Derek, was a terrible after image of his thoughts. He had thought he was find Derek, bloody and weak, but alive, not like this. Never like this. It didn't make sense and he found he didn't want to make sense of it. So why was he still here? Why was he still hearing the flex and squeak of springs, the pants and sighs in the room past the door?

Was it because Stiles had thought for one second the day before, that one second, maybe Derek would accept him?

"Derek," he let slip in a small whisper, only to close his mouth quickly.

Taking a step back and then retreating down the stairs, not bothering with the lift again. He just needed to leave. He wasn't welcome there, he knew that and Stiles didn't want to hear or witness anymore. It was none of his business. That is what he told himself, despite the growing tightness in his chest and roll of his magic inside him.

*** * * * * * ***

" _Derek._ "

He broke the kiss at the sound of his name. It was no more than a whisper, as if brought on the wind, but he heard it. It was familiar to him. Against the jumble of his thoughts, the sensations he was experiencing right now, he went stock still, holding onto the echo of that voice he heard. It seemed to clear his head, erase the fuzziness he wasn't even aware of.

He felt something warm and wet on his shoulder, something warm and solid below him. Looking down in a daze, he recognized the dark headed woman he hovered over. He didn't need to look down to know that he was _almost_ naked. He still had his boxers on, but she had nothing. It was a sight to see, he would admit. She had pale, smooth skin, warm and soft to he touch. She was arched into him, her hands on his back, her legs wrapped around his own. But he didn’t know when that happened. He couldn't place it, he didn't understand it really. What was going on?

Derek, went through his head. That same voice. The more he thought about it, the more he thought it was real, familiar and he knew it. Vaguely he remembered getting back to his place, he remembered Jennifer and their talk, he remembered her saving his life when he stumbled into her somehow. He recalled her bandaging him up a little, shyly keeping her face professional, even if she did make a small comment about his body. Her soft, warm touches on his skin. He could feel her lips, the same ones he was just kissing. Derek felt it all, yet he couldn’t seem to remember...why? Why was he here with her? He liked her sure, but he...wasn't sure what to think. He felt good though, but still.

His wolf was whining at him, clawing, and pacing, trying to get his attention and it was only now that he seemed to notice. He could feel it's anxiousness, it's feeling of...wrongness? He felt breathless and it wasn’t from the kissing. He felt like he had been punched hard in the gut, the air no longer in his lungs. His mind was fuzzy on the edges, but clearing.

What was was he doing?

The more he thought about it, ignoring her kisses and licks to his shoulder and neck, he felt his wolf seize up. He felt a sensation like his hackles rise. Slowly he remembered what happened more fully. He remembered how he got injured, how he felt the need to escape, to run and get somewhere safe. He did that, maybe, he was obviously here at his place, a place where he felt some bit of security. But then, he remembered, where was his pack? The Alpha pack? How much had he missed? What happened after he fell? He didn’t even know if they are okay.

That voice though. That voice he knew. It made his skin tingle, his wolf howl louder in his head for his attention. The more he felt the need to hold onto that voice, the more it seemed to relish inside him. It sounded strangely like...Stiles. 

How could he be here? What was Stiles doing here? What was _Derek_ doing here, near naked with a woman he didn’t know? She was kissing his collar bone, her hands running down his back, lower and lower into personal territory and even though it felt good on the surface it also made his feel uncomfortable, something his wolf seemed to agree with as it growled. He felt his stomach lurch and confusion settle.

Did Stiles see him like this? He must know about the Alpha's now. Derek remembered the plan, the lie he told Stiles. The boy must have come by to check on him, to find him. And here he was, in bed with a stranger. A woman he felt some connection to but he didn’t know how to describe it. Was it even a connection? He felt a pull to her, but he also felt dizzy. His hearing wasn't going in and out, his nose smelling something off. He didn't understand this. The more he turned those words over in his head, the more real they became, accompanied by that voice. It was like they joined together to ask him, 'What are you doing Derek?'

"I-I need to go." He said a little unsurely.

"What, Derek," she said below him between little nibbles on his clavicle. It made his skin get goosebumps, but it wasn't pleasure, it was unease.

"I'm sorry. I-" he said as he pushed off her, pulling away from her hands and legs. Her bright eyes tracked him, looking confused and curious. Her nude body looking aglow in the setting moonlight. He had to admit it was inviting in a way, the sensations felt good, but...no, no he couldn't have that. The further he backed away from her, the more sure of that he felt. "I have to go."

She chuckled, giving a shy yet sultry smile. "The bathroom?"

Derek shook his head, ignoring the slight bit of embarrassment from the insinuation. "No, I have to go. I have to be somewhere."

It was true. He had to be somewhere. He had to find the pack. He had to make sure they were okay. He remembered more and more from the fight, no longer just flashes or blurred images. He needed to find them. He needed to reassure them that he was okay as well as reassure himself. Derek had to explain somehow.

"Where," she asked still on the bed, her face falling a little. "What are you doing?"

Derek was scrambling to get his clothes on, hefting his jeans up, throwing on his shirt. The whining and growling in his head, egging him on to hurry up. He meaned to follow and he was not going to stop till he found his pack. He didn't know where they would be since they were not here, but he had a guess. He had a guess there were at a place that housed a smart mouthed, stubborn, whiskey eyed teen. One that, oddly, he himself needed to see. If Stiles was here, he wanted to explain to him. He wanted to explain everything, even though Derek himself wasn't sure. He owed Stiles that, even about the lie.

"I have to find my p-friends," he said quickly, making sure he caught himself before he said anything more. "I was hurt and they need to know I'm okay."

"I'm sure they know Derek," she said gently.

Somehow the gentle tone didn't settle him. Even his name rolling off her tongue made him put his coat on faster as he reached for his keys. "I'm sorry. I have to go." He did feel bad. He felt bad for leaving her like this, especially in his own place, but he couldn't help it. He had to go. He needed his pack. He felt guilty for leaving this woman, however beautiful and nice she may be, alone, naked, and in a strange place, but somehow he couldn't shake his pack's faces and the sight of amber eyes. "I really am sorry, I just have to go. You can leave whenever, but...I gotta go."

Wow he felt like a douche. But he practically ran through his door without hearing another word from her. He barreled down the steps, ignoring any lingering aches and pains he had left over. All the while, the sound of that voice never leaving him, leading him to where he needed to be, where he should be.


	27. Divided and Lost

Stiles found himself in his Jeep, sitting there in the silent cabin. He didn't understand, but after leaving the loft, the heavy weight in his gut got worse. It made him feel hollow on the inside, aside from that weight, like it was the only thing keeping him on the ground otherwise he would float away. He was angry, that much he knew. He was also...what, disappointed? That didn't make sense.

At least not really. He was disappointed, he was disappointed in Derek for his actions, his choices. It seemed each time Stiles tried to get through to him, the man always pushed him away. He always treated Stiles like he was a kid-technically he is but that's beside the point-like he could not help, like he didn't belong. For a while Stiles has started to believe that he was nothing more than a human boy who ran with wolves, one who would never truly be pack. Stiles _accepted_ that, until he learned about his magic. Maybe he would never be pack, but he was more a part of this than any of them realized. That was his doing mostly. He made the decision to keep them in the dark about it, even his decision to make sure Peter and Lydia, even Danny said nothing about his abilities. But it was at least something he was doing for himself, right? Didn't he deserve that.

His magic was the constant warmth it always was, but it didn’t alleviate the feeling of weight pushing down on him. It didn't take away the growing pit in his stomach where the heavy weight settled. It didn't erase the sounds he heard and the distraught faces of the pack thinking their Alpha was dead. It didn't erase his own fear of that all to realize the man was alive and well, more than well if the giggles and deep breaths were anything to go by. He shouldn't care, Derek was a grown ass man. He was not upset, he was angry, that's all this was. His breathing became more labored as his skin crawled at the memories.

It felt like the beginnings of a panic attack, which he didn't need now. Not tonight and especially not in front of Derek's place. Until suddenly it went away and his magic curled in a ball, like fluffy warmth, pulsing and gentle in his chest.

“Stiles.”

It made him jump in his seat, startled to notice he apparently wasn't as alone as he thought. He didn't need to turn his head to know who it was. He would recognize that voice as easily as he would recognize his own, or his dad's, even Scott's. He kept his eyes forward as he righted himself, controlling his breathing, lowering his pulse a quick as he could. He should have kept his glamour spell on him. 

"Derek," he said evenly, still not looking at the man.

The man was standing by his window, hands in his leather jacket. Stiles turned his head to look at him, but he wouldn't meet his eyes. He didn't want to see what was there. So he settled his gaze on Derek's neat stubble, which may not have been the best choice either. Those strands looked silky, even in the dark.

"I...I want...," Derek tried. Stiles could hear the uncertainty in his voice. He wasn't sure what the man wanted to say, but right now he didn't care, unless it was an apology or something along those lines. It wasn't an apology for Stiles and what he witness, it was for the pack. For Derek's behavior. That was what Stiles was telling himself, even as his magic coiled and pulsed in hist chest.

When Derek didn't speak, Stiles was starting to get irritated. He still didn't look up into his eyes, but he reached his hands up from his lap to grip the steering wheel, turning to look forward. "If you want to see your pack, you better get in," he said, not bothering to hide the coldness of his tone.

Derek stood for a few seconds longer, the fabric of his jacket bunching up where his hands were in the pockets, a soft squeak of stressed leather sounding loud in the quiet night between them. Stiles thought Derek would turn around and stomp back into his building, but instead he went around the back of the jeep before coming to open the other door to slide in, closing it rather softly. It surprised Stiles, but he didn't comment on it. He was more surprised by the smell of Derek wafting into his cabin. The smell of earth, woods, leather and night, all combined in one to circle them both. This close in the small space, it made Stiles swallow, taking shorter breaths so that he could avoid smelling the rather, warm and compelling scent. Damn that man!

"You smell angry," Derek said suddenly, snapping Stiles from his thoughts and Derek's scent. He partially realized that he would smell something different compared to what Derek would, super sniffer and all, but still. It both shocked him as the admittance and irritated him further.

"Ya think," he gritted out, tightening his hands on the wheel. He had yet to start his jeep so the stretch of each silence was deafening, so much so that Stiles could probably hear his heart beating if he listened close enough.

“Tell me what your most upset about,” Derek asked in a mutter, maybe thinking Stiles didn’t hear.

Stiles had to reign in his anger as it spiked. He had to reign in his irritation, his hurt, his fear. His magic responded to the strong emotions, but still never lost the warm fuzzy feeling as it spread in his body. "You left me behind. _Again_ ,” Stiles said harshly. “We had a plan and you went behind my back to make one of your own, all of you did. Minus the humans, that is.”

"Stiles-"

"No, you know what, you don’t get to talk. It’s what your best at anyway. Not speaking. Not communicating with actual sentences or revealing emotion that doesn't disparage that broody, bitter, exterior of yours. You know, it might have escaped your notice but even if you don’t want humans in your pack, humans are not worthless. They are not weak or trinkets to be tossed aside. I can think of a few humans that have saved your ass, who have bled for you. Are you really so callous to have forgotten that you had humans in your pack _before_?”

He turned to look at Derek then, knowing full well how hard his expression looked, but not caring. Derek was looking at him with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open to show his-adorable, no ridiculous yes that’s it-bunny teeth. His eyes soft and seeming child-like. The surprise was clear on his face, a slight crack in his usual Alpha mask.

"Yeah I know about that," Stiles said, plowing forward as his anger allowed him to let the words flow. "Not to mention your uncle has let some small things slip. It wasn't hard to know that somewhere down the line, not everyone was a wolf. So what gives? What is with your resistance to help from humans? Or is it certain humans?"

Derek shook his head as he looked away, his hands still in his jacket. Stiles could faintly see that the one nearest to him was in a tight fist, balled and tense. "I didn’t want you involved. I didn’t want to risk what would happen if we lost. If we lost, they would have gotten exactly what they wanted. They would have had your friend and I know you wouldn’t have wanted that.”

Stiles scoffed. "You assume much.”

Derek sighed heavily beside him,"I could not ask you to come and possibly get hurt. You have been hurt enough.”

"Aw, Der-Bear cares," Stiles said mockingly, no trace of humor in his voice. It made Derek flinch and then bristle from the harshness, nearly hunching his shoulders. "Yeah I have been hurt.” God he has. In so many ways. Ways that stung more than claws tearing into his body ever could. “I don't buy your bullshit excuse. You wanted to keep me away, the others were just collateral damage, but hey points for you in showing concern for them."

"No, that's not-"

"I wasn’t going for you," he said over Derek, forcing him to quiet. "I was going for Danny. Your right I wouldn’t want him in their hands. But the point was for the whole pack to be there, allies and all.”

Derek was silent for a beat before turning to face him, a look of challenge on his face as he asked, "And if we lost?”

Stiles shrugged. "Then at least we fought. We fought for us. It is not your decision to make on who chooses to fight for what or who. You may be the Alpha but you do not hold weight over everyone. You are a hypocrite,” he said finally, letting his breathe out slowly, tiredly. “You fault me for my lies and yet you lie to keep me and anyone else like me away. It may be to prevent harm from coming to us, but don’t pretend that that is all it is. Next time just say it.”

"Stiles that’s not-"

"You're hurt," Stiles said suddenly, now noticing the dark stained blood on Derek's shirt as the moon came out from behind a cloud, giving a little more light. Derek looked down before pushing his hands closer together, moving his jacket over his stomach a little more. Stiles could see the blood but the skin underneath was fine, completely healed over. Smooth and even skin pulled over taught abs that moved as Derek breathed. _Whoa, hey not happening, enough dammit,_ Stiles thought to himself, shaking his mind away from those images. Stiles was never one to not appreciate certain aspects of both sexes and their physicality, but now was certainly not the time and especially not with Derek. Not ever with Derek for many, many different reasons. The blood covering his shirt and some of his jeans made Stiles think back to his another issue. Another point that angered him, that confused and saddened him. "You nearly died."

Derek said nothing as Stiles left off in the quiet cab. He eventually nodded but offered nothing more. There was a minute twitch in his jaw and he closed his eyes as if he was controlling his breathing, or counting to ten in his head, or maybe the exhaustion and the energy it took to heal, or to fuck was getting to him. The last one made the weight in Stiles' stomach return and his mouth taste bitter.

"You should have been with your pack," he said to the man, saying each word a little more slowly than normal, giving a little emphasis to each. "They think you are dead. Do you get that? They are...and I-I had thought that-"

He stopped himself. He felt his throat close. The thoughts of a very dead and bloodied Derek coming like an onslaught. Stiles had felt fear, real and chilling when the possibility of Derek dead was real. It took his breath away. What if it had been real? What if the pack was left without an Alpha? Stiles was guessing if there would be a pack anymore. They weren't much one now, anyone could see that. They were not close, but they were something, there were some connections, even faint ones, so what would happened without their leader. Without one to answer to, without one to protect them? They all could become Omegas, possibly, become feral. Stiles didn't want to see that happen. He didn't want to see them lose themselves as they grieved. It would tear them all apart. 

Or would it be worse? The Alpha power wouldn't go to anyone of them, it would go to the one who killed Derek. One of the other Alphas. Which would mean the pack would go to them too. They would have a new Alpha. They would be made to submit. If they didn't...Stiles didn't want to think about what would happen. It was as bad as thinking Derek was stone cold and lifeless.

All of those thoughts solidified his anger and hurt. Not just for himself, but the pack. He may not be part of it, but even he could feel what a hole it would leave behind if Derek was suddenly gone. Stiles could believe it was like the air was stolen from his lungs, a thousand tiny needles replacing it all and tearing into his throat. He would try to breathe, get relief that would never come as the weight of realizing Derek never coming back would become clear. Despite all the pain he has been through, all the resentment and rage, he would grieve. How could Derek not know this? How could Derek ignore that so he could bust a nut?  _Why would you grieve for someone who wouldn't grieve for you,_ his mind supplied bitterly.

"How could you be so...cold.” Stiles choked out in a near whisper.

Derek, for the life of him, looked small in the seat next to Stiles. Like he just sunk into himself. "I-I didn’t mean to. I barely know how I got back. And then Jennifer was there. And I needed help. She-she helped me. But I...your right I have no excuse. I don’t even understand what happened. I don't understand what I...how I could-. I... _I don’t know_.”

"How could you not know? You are the Alpha. You were nearly killed judging by all the blood on your clothes. How could you think they wouldn’t want to know you are alive? They are your pack are they not? Do you think they wouldn’t care?” Stiles finished in a hurry. It was ludicrous. Peter and Cora would surely want to know, even if Derek thought that the rest of the pack wouldn't. But even that wasn't true. Stiles had seen their faces. The sheer helplessness, the sadness, the...uncertain fear. They didn't know what to do. A thought occurred to him. "Wait, Jennifer, as in Jennifer Blake. Ms. Blake." Wow, that is where his thoughts were bringing him. He did not need a face to go with the sounds he couldn't shake.

Derek just sunk in the seat, a growl escaping his lips. Stiles took that a touchy subject, so he left it be for now. Of course Derek would like her. She was smart, pretty, sweet, and obviously sexually alluring. Even if the man was emotionally constipated, he deserved some form of happiness. But, not at the expense of his pack. That wasn't right. He was the Alpha. Derek had to know the pack cared about him, his well being.

"You don’t think they would care do you?”

The thought just came to him. Stiles knew about the guilt Derek had for his family, but did that guilt transcend to his pack now?

"Would you? Given everything I have done? Let’s face it, I’m not Alpha of the year.”

The answer to his previous question was yes. Yes and no at the same time. True Derek had made bad choices, even before he was an Alpha. He made questionable and rash, stupid choices as an Alpha. Stiles was surprised Derek admitted it. He was surprised that Derek even said Stiles was right, that he had no excuse for his behavior. The man was supposed to put the pack first. Derek knew that and he fucked up. The reason though remained, tied with maybe why Derek thinks his pack wouldn't care if he were dead or not. Stiles was too tired to put all the pieces together so he asked, "Why do you think that is?”

"Stiles...you and me...the pack-"

"Stop," he said quickly, not going down that road. "This isn’t about me. It’s about them.”

"I just want to do right by them. I never should have turned them," he muttered gruffly.

"Why?”

Derek shifted in the seat, huffing a little. You would think Stiles was trying to pull the hairs out of his arms to get him to speak. "They are kids. Young.”

"Are you really so different," Stiles said, finding himself asking calmly, honestly.

Silence passed between them. He watched as Derek remained stiff in the seat, contemplating everything. His eyes were unfocused, lost in thought. Stiles could still smell the heady woodsy scent from the man, but ignored it in favor of the conversation. He waited for Derek to answer. The more time that passed, the more likely he knew wasn't getting anything else from Derek.

"Why did you turn them?" He asked instead. It wasn't just to get the conversation going again. Stiles wanted to know. Stiles wanted to know why Derek turned his three betas. He defended Derek before to Scott, giving excuses of saving them, offering protection and safety, something akin to home for them, but he didn't know if that was true. Was any of that true? Derek had known about all of the betas' situations. Did he choose them because he wanted to help them? Or did he see them as weak, in need of a reprieve, all so he could have his betas, his warriors, his extra power to command? Stiles was sure Scott would choose the latter, but Stiles was nothing if not inquisitive. He was curious and he wanted to hear the Alpha's reasoning when he could have chosen others with far different lives, attributes, and skills. There were many out there who probably would give up much for enhanced senses and super healing, strength and athleticism. Yet he picked one with an illness, another who was abused, and one who was a ghost even in his own family. "Why?”

It became clear that Derek wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he couldn’t. Stiles wanted to be furious with him. Scream and yell more retorts and possibly insults. He wanted answers, he deserved answers. After everything this man, his pack, and the supernatural in general has put him through, he needed something. He shouldn't care, he knew that, but he couldn't stop himself. Did they have something that made him choose? That was it, it had to be. Stiles felt a flare of something run through his body, making the warm fuzzy feeling of his magic turn sharp and hot. Was is because of jealousy, jealousy that others had something that Derek liked about them, that he gave them a chance, when he gave Stiles none?

He wanted to reach over and shake the man, at least he did until he saw Derek’s face. He looked so...lost. So confused. He was ashamed and guilty. The evidence clear in his multicolored eyes as he stared at the dashboard. His frown deep set mirroring his eyebrows. He look defeated and so unsure that it hurt to even stare. It took Stiles' breath away and the anger subsided a little. Maybe this was his answer.

Even his magic deflated in his chest returning to a ball of warmth, curling around itself. Derek nearly looked like he could have done the same. Curled up just to shut everything else away. When Derek's nostrils flared up, he seemed to settled deeper in the seat, rigid and tense, his expression deepened and the furrow of his brows got more intense as Derek got lost in his thoughts. Stiles had to resist the urge to reach out to him. To comfort him in some sort of way. He never thought he would have that urge, but there it was. Derek looked no different than a frustrated child, who knew not where to go or what to do. Like he was alone and had no hope of help.

Then it hit him that Derek actually agreed with him. He knew that, but it was still something that has never happened. Judging by the look on his face, he really meant it. He really agreed with Stiles at what he did. From the struggled he seemed to be internally having, he was trying to understand it, but to no avail. It clearly made him angry, but it also made him feel ashamed.

Stiles had heard about a release of feelings during the height of the moment or after a near death experience with the person who saves your life, but he didn’t really believe them. But maybe they were true. Maybe Derek had a rush of emotion that he couldn’t explain. It was possible to feel something for someone who just saved your life, completely unexpected. Right? Maybe that is what Jen-Ms. Blake was for him. Derek could have just gotten caught up in the relief of still being alive that he lost a bit of reality. Or maybe, just maybe, Derek had felt a kinship to Ms. Blake. He could like her, he could grow to love her. Perhaps one day she could learn about the supernatural and be part of the pack...if Derek wanted. Stiles could understand the want to be happy. He understood the notion of finding something good and being drawn to it, even if it was unexpected. Derek needed something like that.

“Derek you are allowed to be happy.” He said slowly, making sure he got every word out with enough emphasis to make Derek listen. It surprised himself, never thinking he would be the one to comfort Derek Hale, willingly especially after, well everything. It may not be hugs and gentle pats or rubs, that both of them wouldn't want, Stiles was sure of that. But sometimes words were the best option. But, Stiles was being honest. He believed it, so Derek had to know, even if he didn't believe Stiles. He could take the information as he would like he did anything else. At least Stiles would know that he had said it, that he gave Derek some advice to work towards or to have hope for, even if the man didn't deserve it from him. “You’re allowed to want to be happy. But if you want a pack, then it’s time you _show_ you want it.”

Derek barely looked at him, but Stiles could see the moment he stopped breathing.

He knew Derek might not believe those words about happiness but he seemed stunned at the harsh truth that Stiles pointed out at the same time. Derek always said he wanted a pack, but he never acted on it. Stiles remembered what Danny said a pack was meant to be. All accounts and knowledge in his books spoke the same thing. Packs were close, like family, sometimes even closer than family could be. They resonated with one another and had a bond that never left anyone feeling lonely. It was a place someone could always go to for comfort, warmth, affection, and safety. 

 _It was home_.

Where was any of that? Where was any of that in this pack? Derek had to want that after all this time, all this pain, and years of anger and grief, guilt even. Stiles knew the guy had to have had that with his family, his real family, his previous pack. So was this rift between everyone due to the clashes of misunderstandings, feuds, past grievances, and teenage hormones? Or was it deeper than that?

Taking a deep breath, Stiles locked his lips together and said nothing more. He was tired and wanted to go home. He made to deliver the Alpha to his betas and he was doing that. It had already been a long night and all he wanted was to pass out. Stupid emotional roller coasters! So he left it at that despite Derek turning his head to look at him. Stiles didn’t see his face, only the blur out of his peripheral vision. He kept his eyes on the road as he started his jeep, shifting gears and pulled out and went on the road. The drive back was stilted and silent.

*** * * * * * ***

They had gotten to the Stilinski house in silence. Derek was a little taken aback by the present company being Stiles. The one who used to fill silence with talk and babble. Flailing arms and constant energy. He had to do quick flicks of his eyes over to the boy to make sure he was actually with him. Stiles has indeed changed and Derek couldn't help think that he helped cause it. The boy was harder, more direct and blunt. He no longer smell of nerves and fear mixed with determination or annoyance. He just smelled like Stiles. Sweet and spicy, like vanilla and cinnamon. This close the scents were amplified, filling the small cabin in every crevice. But there was something different about the scent, something more now that Derek hadn't bothered to notice before. Faintly he could detect a smell of crisp air, trace of something burning. It was odd, but it kind of was similar to...ozone? Either way, Stiles' scent barely changed anymore. He never smell like his emotions, and it made Derek want to growl at that. It wasn't natural, but more over, it wasn't Stiles.

Physically, the boy had changed as well. No one could deny Stiles had gotten leaner, gaining some muscle over the summer. Derek had never heard a reason of how or why Stiles had gotten more athletic, but it wasn't his right to ask. Stiles was hardly around until recently. That was all Derek's doing anyway. He made it so the teen was out of the picture. The more he thought about the changes in Stiles, the more he saw the hard lines in his face, the silent fire in his eyes every time he looked at Derek or Scott, the more Derek thought that he was to blame for the disappearance of the boy he pictured Stiles always was.

It made Derek feel...heavy, weighted down and low.

Their talk had grated against his nerves. So much so it rattled him. Derek was surprised when he came from his loft to realize that Stiles was here. He wasn't sure if Stiles did in fact say his name inside, but he wasn't about the bring that up. Either it sent a wild thrum through Derek to know that Stiles was here, that the voice in his head at least belonged to Stiles, if he was in the building or not. The boy was right though. Like many times before Stiles had laid it out to him and told him to fucking man up. It was in more words than that, but still. Derek got the gist. He had no idea what was going on with him. He still didn't understand what went on in his loft, with Jennifer. A part of him regretted leaving, especially the way he did, it made him feel like an ass, one who used and then left. Despite them not having actually gone all the way-something Derek was grateful for, like very much so-he still felt dirty. Like he took advantage.

Who does that? Who gets bloody and almost dies just to find someone to help you only to almost bed them immediately after. That wasn't him. It couldn't be. His mind was fuzzy and blurred from those moments, but he did remember enjoying them. The pleasure, the heat and feeling of someone else pressed against him. The feel of lips on his and hands on his shoulders and back. He did like it. So it wasn't a far cry that he was the one to instigate it all. His wolf didn't like it, but Derek didn't blame it. He was beginning to not like it either. More so, he was not liking what he was becoming.

Stiles had given his a slap without the physical sting. His pack thought he was dead and he was off rolling in the sheets with someone else. It sickened him. He felt the bile rise in his throat when Stiles told him all of this. At the implications of what Derek had done and what he was missing. He was missing his pack, he was missing the gravity of the situation he had last saw them in. Derek had abandoned them to grief and fear, no matter if it was intentional or not.

_How could you be so...cold?_

Those words rang true. How could he? The boy next to him had made what he thought about Derek clear. He couldn't blame him. Derek could only blame himself. He has blamed himself for a long time anyway, so why not add more to that widening hole, waiting to swallow him completely. He knew he was surly, broody and angry. Could anyone blame him, given the life he has endured? Anger was his anchor, it had been for a while, after the fire. It was how he kept control and got by. He couldn't change it now. He didn't know how to change it now. There was nothing else that settled him, made him calm or feel unburdened. Even less now that he had a pack to look after. It was his fault he has a pack, but he didn't regret it. Even if none of his betas really like him or want to be with him. Even if Peter pities him and Cora is disappointed and hates him. He didn't regret having a pack again.

But then did he have a pack? 

When they got back to the house, Stiles gave Derek a couple sprits of cologne, which nearly made Derek cough at the sudden chemical smells. When he glared at Stiles as the boy put the bottle of spray in the back seat, Stiles just cocked an eyebrow at him.

"It's either that, or letting them know what you really were doing," he said quietly, indicating the pack inside. Derek found he couldn't argue. Even as the smell stung his nose, he knew that Stiles was right. It was better to smell like the offensive Hollister store than smell like sex. He didn't want to give the pack anymore reason to hate him. It was already a near thing.

When they got into the house, they heard growls and arguments. They saw Erica and Scott growling at each other, Isaac standing between them. Jackson and Lydia arguing. Peter standing off to the side with Cora as they rolled their eyes and Danny sitting on the couch watching it all like a parent with no way out of the sight before them. Stiles' dog was sitting on his dad chair, curled up, her ears twitching as the snarls and anger bounced off the walls. It went too far when Erica said something that Derek couldn't catch in time before Scott slashed out at her. She jumped back into Boyd who held her steady, pulling her a little behind him. Scott's swing went too wide and hit Isaac in the face, clawing his cheek and nose.

Derek nearly let out a roar to alert everyone to stop, but Stiles moved first, nearly shoving Derek as he stepped further into the foyer. He stood rod straight, his head high, but Derek couldn't see his face.

"Enough," Stiles shouted. It seemed to bounce off the walls, carrying his voice every where, making everyone stop and then turn towards him. It caught everyone off guard as well as Derek. He was both surprised and awed. Even his wolf went silent at Stiles' voice. He could smell Stiles' anger, rolling off in waves, aggressive and unyielding. Derek had to shake the feeling of putting his head down in silent surrender. The rest of the pack went silent, subdued even if gruffly and still with growls under their breaths, but everyone went still and stared at them. The dog, Luna, whine a little, but otherwise kept quiet as Stiles started to walk.

He crossed over to Isaac, who stood stock still, before Stiles reached up to gently touch his jaw, turning his face so he could see the scratch marks. Derek could hear everyone's heartbeats hammering from both adrenaline and anger, but also anticipation. Derek would be lying if he didn't feel the same. He wanted to march over and throw Scott against a wall for hurting his beta, but he also wanted to see what Stiles did next. Stiles seemed to let out a breath before letting Isaac go, apparently noticing the healing was already starting. Derek didn't miss the little curl of Isaac's lips as he gazed at Stiles. "I'm fine," the curly haired blonde said gently.

"Good," Stiles said without falter. "Because I brought someone you all wanted to see." With that he turned around to look at Derek, and in unison everyone else followed. Derek could tell what image he looked like, bloody and torn clothes, but alive. Derek met Stiles' eyes briefly, a cool, unflinching and unrecognizable gaze before bodies started moving.

He was bombarded with the pack, all of them barreling into them, wrapping their arms around him, warm bodies plastered to every side. It was constricting and loud. Everyone was talking at once, growls and sniffles, a couple tears and whines. It took Derek's breath away at the force of their enthusiasm and concern. Even Jackson was part of the group, seeming more pissed than worried, but the sentiment was clear. It got so much that they all nearly toppled over if they all didn't steady themselves with their reflexes. There were noses running over Derek's shoulders and his arms were grasped tightly, his sister mostly the one plasters to his front as she wrapped her arms around him. He could smell the combined emotions in the room and it nearly choked him. There was so much affection that it was a surprise, one he didn't expect.

"You smell like chemicals," he heard Boyd say somewhere near his back.

"More like blood," Erica said to his side.

"Your alive," Cora whisper into his neck.

The relief in those words, made his chest hurt. It took him a moment to realize that some were not in pack embrace. Stiles wasn't nearby, but standing over by Danny and Lydia, where their heads were bowed a little, their lips moving quickly, quietly. Derek couldn't pick up their words, just whispers. He felt a strange pang in his chest at the sight of the three of them on the other side of the room. Separate. But then they weren't pack, he knew that. Except for Lydia. She was pack, she has been ever since Jackson reformed into a an actual werewolf. She should be in the pack hug. He wasn't close to her, but she was pack associated. But then...did she even consider herself pack? Did she want to be pack anymore?

That sent another pang in his chest. Even more so as she and Stiles continued to whisper with Danny, all of them forming a tight knit group, solitary and distant. Scott was even out of the large hug. He stood off to the side, near the window, biting his thumb nail in nervous succession. His eyes kept flicking to Stiles and the others, back to the pack. He looked uncertain and nervous, he also seemed frustrated and that was probably because of the first two emotions. The boy was a mess of acrid emotions that stung Derek's nose. Derek had to resist rolling his eyes. Scott was not his concern right now. He looked closely at Isaac's cheek like how Stiles did, but he was healing fast, so Isaac brushed his hand away and stepped back. They all stepped away, taking quick, settling breaths, or wiping away tears, in Cora's case.

"I'm sorry I-"

"Don't Derek." Cora had said quickly, holding up her hand to stop his words. "You are alive. We will talk about the how later. That is all I care about right now."

"Me too," Isaac said rather shyly, but surely.

Derek simply nodded. A little relieved at the out they gave him from explaining. He didn't know how to begin even if he wanted to. Slowly, he made his way further into the house. Everyone else followed, going to settle into the room, rather stiffly but calmly. A mix of emotions still in the air. Erica, Boyd, and Cora sat on the couch, Peter stood in the corner, Danny and Lydia sat on the other recliner nearest the kitchen, and Scott sat on the floor with Isaac nearby. Stiles hovered near Danny and Lydia and Derek stood between the foyer and the living, a little unsure of what to do. Jackson went to sit in the plus recliner, but stopped when he noticed Luna still laying in it. Derek watched as Jackson just growled at the dog, trying to get it to submit it's seat. The white and black German shepherd just raised it's head to huff at him before putting it's head back on it's paws.

Jackson looked at Derek, expectantly. Derek knew this wouldn't work, but he flashed his eyes at Luna, actually wanting to see what she would do. The dog just ignored him. Jackson growled again about ready to say something when Stiles whistled.

"Luna," he said softly from where he was now sitting on the floor next to Danny and Lydia's legs.

The dog immediately got up to move over to him, flicking her tail as she went, but not before huffing at both Jackson and Derek as if making a point to them both. She settled next to Stiles putting her head on his lap. Derek watched as Stiles' moved his nimble fingers through her fur, the smell of contentment wafting from both of them. Derek felt like he was just given the middle finger.

"Your dog is broken," Jackson said gruffly as he sat in the chair.

Stiles just raised his eyes to the other teen, cool and serious. "She just knows where her allegiances lie. She doesn't answer to either of you."

The implication of Stiles being her Alpha went unsaid, but definitely was known. Everyone in the room was silent after that, watching as the boy went back to petting the dog affectionately as he leaned back against Danny and Lydia.

"When did you get a dog," Scott asked curiously. "I've never seen her before."

Derek noticed how both Peter and Lydia rolled their eyes. Derek even resisted the urge to do it. Stiles once again said in a calm voice, "Around the beginning of summer, a while after you were last here."

The calmness of his voice didn't dissipate the bite of his words. Derek saw Scott flinch before hunching over a little, not saying another word. It was quiet for a bit, no one daring to speak. The atmosphere was still tense. Derek still didn't know what everyone was fighting about earlier, but right now he didn't care. He was feeling himself unwind a little more at having his pack near. His mind was more clear and his wolf was settling at the familiarity of the people around him. Before long Jackson was the one to speak again."So if your alive," Jackson asked slowly, "does that mean the other Alpha-"

"We will determine that tomorrow," Stiles said for him, looking up at all of them. Derek could see the dark shadows under the boy's eyes, seeming more prominent than they were a half hour ago. "Right now, all of you are still healing. Above everything else we're all tired. All of you go home and finish getting some energy back."

Jackson looked like he wanted to argue, but Lydia nodded pulling attention to her. "He's right. I need my beauty sleep before school tomorrow."

"It's nearly 2:30 in the morning. How much beauty sleep do you plan on getting," Danny asked good-naturedly.

"It's no different than any other night," Lydia said honestly.

"Yeah," Stiles said rather somberly, his scent spiking with something too quickly to identify before disappearing.

"Can't we stay here," Erica asks, her eyes a little pleading and glassy, like she was close to falling asleep on the spot.

"I..uh.." Stiles seemed to be struggling with that answer. He was looking at all of them with uncertainty, with unease. Derek could see everyone looked drained and ready to catch much needed sleep, the state of the their clothes making them exhaustion seem even worse. But he could also see how Stiles was clearly trying think of what to do. Derek wanted to say no, a part of him wanted to tell everyone to leave. He wasn't comfortable here. It wasn't because it wasn't homey or he couldn't find a place to settle in, it was because this was not his place to settle. He knew he wasn't welcome here. He didn't want to overstay his welcome. Even though Stiles wasn't a wolf, this was his _den_ , his place to escape. Derek and his pack were the intruders. Derek wouldn't be able to get comfortable because he knows that this was not his place to allow such comfort. He wasn't wanted here and Stiles clearly didn't want them all here. He could hear the boy's heart, still beating a little quick, but steady as the boy thought of an answer.

"I don't think-" Derek began, only for Stiles to say "Sure."

That was how Derek found himself in the Stilinski's living room, sitting on the recliner, looking out at the pack. They had all elected to stay there, moving the coffee table up against the fire place for more room. Erica and Cora had brought out blankets and pillows from the downstairs closet, pooling and unraveling them on the floor. Stiles had given everyone some fresh clothes. Regular t-shirts and sweats or shorts to sleep in. The dirty, torn and bloody clothes went into the trash. After some grumbling and complaining about what Stiles gave them, mostly that was Jackson and Peter, but Peter's was because Stiles clothes wouldn't fit, everyone came back from the bathrooms or other rooms changed and looking ready to collapse. Stiles had initially made to leave the room and go upstairs, Danny wanting to agree, but it was Lydia who pulled them into the pile of blankets that was made. If Stiles argued, he did it with his eyes. Derek still couldn't smell anything from the boy which annoyed him greatly, but said nothing of it.

With deep reluctance, Stiles settled on the outside of the blankets, Danny behind. Lydia gave Stiles room as she laid on the blankets with Jackson beside her. It was a slow process on everyone relaxing enough to sleep, but they succumbed to it eventually. With his pack falling asleep one by one, it gave Derek a peace of mind, knowing that they were okay, they were healing, and they were allowing themselves to rest. Their hearts were even and steady, their breathing calm. It allow Derek to slowly relax himself. Despite his unease he couldn't shake, he let himself close his eyes for a few moments.

He woke to a suddenly fast beating thumping in his ears, a soft whimpering, and a raspy breaths. He wasn't in an easy sleep so it was enough to wake him. Looking around the dark room, he didn't know what to expect. Letting his eyes bleed red, he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Yet the whimpers still came. There was a rustle of fabric to his right and he looked to see Scott had shifted on the bean bag he was in, his eyes not looking at Derek, but ahead of him at the pile of bodies. Derek looked over to see Danny turning over before softly whispering Stiles' name.

There was a gasp before deep shaking breath, the heartbeat hammering in his ears still beating, skipping a few beats. That is when Derek knew. Stiles was having a nightmare, that much was clear. Derek looked closer to see the sweat on the teen's neck, lightly covering his forehead, wetting his hair brushed on his temples. He knew Stiles was awake, his eyes wide, opening and closing as Danny whispered to him. Listening to Danny tell Stiles to breathe and then hearing Lydia shuffle closer to them both to run a soothing hand on Stiles' arm, it made something twist in Derek’s chest. He didn’t know what but he felt it. It was like air left his lungs a little too quickly.

He spared a glance at Scott and saw him duck his eyes, seeing the tighten of his jaw. He heard the stuttering quickness of his heart, but it wasn’t enough to be that note worthy compared to Stiles' who was still settling down. Derek watched as Danny and Lydia comforted Stiles now staying silent but rubbing a hand on his arm or shifting closer in a makeshift hug without actually moving to wrap their arms around him. It was a closeness that suddenly hit Derek like a freight train. It made him feel like he was intruding on a tender moment, something he was no invited in on. Something he had no right to witness.

Derek could see the small shake of Stiles' shoulders, hear the deep breaths he took to calm himself as he was comforted by his friends. It was like a slap to the face to Derek. He was so used to Scott and Stiles being the duo, the platonic relationship that many found both irritating and envious. It was something Derek saw the first time he met them. Two boys roaming through the woods talking and bickering with each other, their emotions of affection, amusement, annoyance and worry all morphing to make a combined scent that was distinctly theirs. It was not uncommon to find Scott without Stiles or vice versa. They were a package. Tied together with a ribbon like a double present. You couldn't have one without the other. But now...that ribbon was in tatters, scattering on the four winds.

Stiles was not close with Scott anymore. It was now that Derek wishes he knew what was said between the two friends. Were they friends? Were they still close at all?

As he watched Stiles, being comforted by others who were not Scott, saw the tired and yet concerned look on Danny’s face and the nurturing way on Lydia handled Stiles even as he couldn't see her face, Derek came to realize just how blind he was. Ever since the whole Gerard thing came to a head, Stiles has been avoiding Scott. It wasn’t something that was no doubt going on all summer. Was that why Scott was seen more around the loft? Was that why he and Isaac were closer, looking more like how Stiles and Scott used to be?

Derek doubted Isaac had just replaced Stiles as Scott’s best friend but then what did he know. Ever since they all found out that Stiles was kidnapped and tortured by Gerard, some things became very clear. Stiles didn’t know about Scott and his plan. Stiles was a victim, hurt and used as a message. Scott obviously didn’t know and obviously had not expressed a _need_ to know if his blatant disregard for it was clear, which turned into aggressive denial. Scott didn’t know anymore than Derek. None of them did. Yet again Derek was reminded of how much Stiles had changed, but now he thought about how deeply Stiles was affected. Was the nightmare about Gerard? Was it about pain?

Derek had witness Stiles having a nightmare back at his loft once. It was random and a complete surprise. But Derek remembered the look on the boy's face. Like pain and fear etched in his features. He remembered pulling pain from him unlike anything he thought possible. He thought it was from Stiles' discomfort from the cuts on his side, but that couldn't be it. It didn't make sense. Derek found himself wishing he could pull pain from the teen now, just to see how much he was still experiencing.

Yet it didn’t erase the scars Stiles received. It made Derek wonder what else Stiles has kept from everyone, everyone he didn't trust or didn't want to know. Derek saw one scar cutesy of Stiles after Derek had referred to him as...Kate. Derek hates himself for that. It wasn’t true! 

Stiles was not Kate. He just...he made Derek pause. _Constantly._ He was smart. Cunning. Resourceful and ruthless when he wanted to be. He lies to protect those he cares about even if the lies are pathetic. There are so many things that Derek could use as an excuse to compare him to Kate. _But none of it was true._

The truth was that he was afraid. He was so fucking terrified! He used those reasons as a blinder, an excuse to push the boy away. It wasn’t just because he was human, no Derek knew that not all humans were like Kate, it was to make sure he never let his guard down. Anyone who could see him, could stab through his bullshit and see the truth of it all, he couldn’t let it happen again. He couldn’t show weakness or vulnerability to anyone. 

Yet that boy was just like Kate in that way. Far worse, he was like...Paige. All of them, in their own ways saw him, in a different stages of his life, saw what he tried to hide. He lost Paige, he lost his pack and family, he couldn’t lose anything else. It would destroy him.

Still, Stiles was like a splinter, digging deeper into his skin the more Derek tried to pry him out and push him away, leaving a trail of unknowingly empty relief as he dug deeper, like an exhale of long baited breath, a release of weight. Stiles didn’t ask for this any of it, he just took in stride and helped however he was able. How could Derek fight off that? It's a mass of emotions he felt when Stiles caught onto his bullshit, it was both relief and anger. Relief that someone could see the truth, could see what he wanted but didn't know how to say it, and anger because he didn't want to show it. He does not want to show that anyone, least of all a human boy, with sharp intuition and wit and a sharper tongue could reach him on that level.

But Stiles was not the problem, Derek was. He knew it and yet he couldn’t bring himself to share it. He feared it. He was the Alpha, he had to be strong. He had to be the leader.

Some leader he was though. He nearly was killed tonight, and he left his pack thinking he was dead for hours while he nearly had sex with some woman he didn’t even know. Sure she was beautiful and he wasn’t opposed to it, but it just felt...wrong. He was confused and still was. He didn’t know what happened or how it happened. He wasn’t ever one to take someone to his bed like that. He never considered one night stands and romps under the moonlight, that wasn't him. It made him sick at the thought. What is happening to him? This isn’t him. This isn’t who he wants to be. His family would be so disappointed. His mother. Laura.

The silence of the room returned to him as he fought to keep his throat from closing and his eyes from burning. He hasn't allowed himself to cry for a long time. Not since the fire. He won't do it here. He looked from the now settled three teens, Stiles back asleep if a little uneasy, Danny and Lydia hugging him softly as they stayed close. Derek could feel the contentment, the warmth, the affection the three shared. He didn’t need to know what they all had been through. The months over the summer had obviously made them get close and he probably would never know what happened in those months to allow that. Obviously Stiles and Danny became friends, learned about magic and somewhere along the way helped Lydia find out she was a Banshee. Something Derek himself was a little fuzzy on the details for. Peter had been helping the girl to look into it a bit from the Hale tomes and records, both wanting to know more from such a rare occurrence.

Yeah Stiles has found new friends, also seeming a little close to Erica and Boyd but otherwise remaining on the outside. Just as Derek had wanted. He peered around the room to see the state his pack was in. He had to bite his tongue to keep a whine from escaping. 

They were all spread out. Scott in the opposite corner in an over-sized beanbag with Isaac leaning against it, also looking uneasily asleep. Jackson laid on the blankets still near Lydia but not touching her as she scooted away from him towards Stiles. Danny on his other side. Erica and Boyd at their feet, seeming close, but not touching any of them as Boyd hugged her from behind. It was clear that the two had developed a very close bond over their time being kidnapped. Peter had said that maybe they could be mates, something Derek was no doubt going to have to bring up to them, when he found a good time to. It was evidently clear that they cared for each other. Peter in the chair in the corner, closest to Scott, with his body angled away from him. And Cora on the couch, curled into herself with a blanket over her shoulders. Allison had apparently been here, but left before Stiles and Derek came in.

As he watched the sleeping forms, he saw there was no closeness. A pack was meant to be close. Often slept near one another, touching, being a constant reminder of warmth and assurance, safety. Here there was none of that. Or very little depending on where you looked. Derek could feel the bonds from his betas, but they were faint, not strong or developed. It made his wolf whine at the realization. He couldn't use the closeness of Lydia, Stiles, or Danny as pack because two of them were not pack. He didn't know Danny well enough to determine anything about him yet, and Stiles...well it was safe to say that that was another matter. Lydia was pack, but still he wondered if she even considered herself pack or wanted to be. Overall, they were divided. A divided pack with little to connect them all.

_This isn’t a pack, it’s a goddamn sandbox._

_If you want a pack, it’s time you show it._

Cora's and Stiles' words echoed in his head for the remainder of the early morning. Derek could feel the weight of his failures more and more, stealing away any sleep he could possibly imagine of getting. Derek had much to think about. Mainly he had to think about what to do. He was the Alpha, as much as he both hated and loved it, he needed to be one. His wolf agreed as it whined at him, pawing to get him to do something. Deep guilt rocked through him at what he has allowed himself to be blind to. He never wanted this, he never wanted to be an Alpha, but he couldn't change that now. He didn't know what he was doing. The pack knew that, he would bet money on that. He would never admit it to them, but he was so, incredibly lost.

He had to fix this. This rift between everyone. It was his fault anyway. It was all his fault. Every choice he made seemed to dig him in a hole deeper and deeper, set them all further apart. He has already had two betas run from him, to return because they had little choice. He's got an Omega who refuses and fights him on everything, who has already betrayed him. A beta who doesn't know who to turn to. A new Banshee. A disappointed and ashamed sister who may want to go back to South America. And then there's Stiles. Always he comes back to Stiles. He had to change what they were. All of them.

He thought back to a promise Laura made him a long time ago. One she made just before she left to come back to Beacon Hills. She promised him he would have a pack again. She aimed for reassurance, for hope, but at the time he didn't believe her. He didn't wish to believe those words. Looking at the group around him now, he wondered if there was that possibility that her words could be true. Even with her not here anymore, could she still be right like she always was. 

Derek prayed she was. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to be nice and patient. This is my first real fic. Keep negativity and bashing to yourself. You can hate the characters, but do not hate on me and my direction for the story. As for the supporters, I still love you all and big hugs to you! Its been a rough few weeks, but I hope you like this latest chapter.


	28. Interferring Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yall. This is a much longer chapter than usual. I know I'm sorry, but I have to get this all out before my favorite chapter that comes next. This was one of my favorite chapters to write and you'll see why. Some Sterek and magic and lovely information to take note of. These next few chapters are going to be my favorite so far and I hope you like them. Thank you all for the love and support. It means the world to me! Have an magical week!

Stiles awoke rather early, the sun not even breaking into the sky, but growing paler and paler as it got closer. It was nothing new to him, just that when he awoke he was surrounded by other people which was not normal. Danny and Lydia were on either side of him, something he recognized they would do after he had a nightmare. He remembered the nightmare, like he remembered all of them. Rarely did they change, always featuring the same faces, the same emotions and pain they brought him. You would think he was used to them by now, but he wasn't. He might never be used to seeing the horrors he's endured. In this one, yet again he was trapped in the basement with the hunters. Then it changed to the forest, that crystal blue eyed thing from the Astral realm, hovering over him like he was an ant soon to be under it's boot. He still thanked his stars for finding a way to stay away from that realm. He thanked them everyday when he looked at Danny and when they both felt each other’s presence and emotions in their heads. It was a unforeseeable connection that they shared but one Stiles was eternally grateful for.

If it meant he wouldn’t die in a place that wasn’t home (like on this plane of existence home) or with beings that were not his friends or allies, he would take it. He never wanted to go back to that place, he never wanted to feel those cold, iron like hands on his skin again. Or see those shining eyes burning with a deadly amusement. Or feel that pain, that terrible gut wrenching pain.

Slowly he disentangled himself, getting up and inching away from the slumbering figures of the pack. He nearly expected he would trip and fall on someone, causing a ruckus, but his training in both magic and physical combat has proven useful in more than a few ways. He has learned to control his movements. His ADHD was non-existent since it was his latent magic trying to find an outlet even before he knew it existed. It was his Spark, telling him he had energy to spare, energy to use. Stiles nearly felt disgusted with himself for using drugs to suppress a part of himself. It was shameful, but he supposed he couldn't have known. He walked over the bodies, heading towards the kitchen. When he was in the clear he was about to head in when he looked back, eyes locking on a pair of red ones on the far side of the room. Stiles could feel his blood rising, his magic curling around his chest near his heart.

He wasn't surprised the Alpha was awake. He probably didn't get any sleep at all. Too busy watching over his pack, making sure nothing happened, making sure that they were protected. Stiles felt his chest tighten at that thought, but then it disappeared as he thought about Derek most likely watching Stiles. Being wary about being in the teen's home, his sanctuary, his den. This was Stiles' place and they were guests. Derek was not here for pack cuddles or to get some rest. He was here to guard his pack from both outside and inside threats. That meant Stiles himself. He was the invader and he was keeping an eye on the pack's host. Stiles could feel that knot tighten further, making his breathing more labored.

He mentally shook his head, clearing the thoughts. _Why should I care,_ he thought. _He's not my Alpha, of course I'm a threat. If he knew about my magic, he wouldn't be here at all, he would run with his tail between his legs._

Stiles turned away, mostly trying to hide the small smirk on his face at the image his thoughts brought him. It was kind of funny. The big bad Alpha, the big wolf, running from the scrawny human, despite the current of power under his fingertips. It made for an interesting dynamic, but one Stiles was not interested in exploring. He was too tired and frankly, he wanted nothing more than to just listen to the silence around the house. So ignoring the Alpha and the scattered bodies of his pack, Stiles went into his kitchen, turning on the coffee maker, making sure to add extra grounds so that it was stronger. That was how he liked it. That was how he needed it.

He sat on the back porch steps, leaving the door open to let in some air. It was cool and warm at the same time. The right temperature in the early morning as fall slowly became winter. They were about a month away from Halloween, so they still had some warm days left. Today would be one of them, he could tell. Sipping his black coffee, he stared out at his backyard and the trees beyond. Listening to the sounds of the waking up nature, the disappearing of the night life, giving way to the day as the sun slowly rose to greet the mere mortals on the Earth. A soft breeze coasting over Stiles' skin and hair where he closed his eyes to enjoy it. It was times like this where he was happy to be alive, happy that the dark parts of his past were just memories. This was where he also gave thanks to anyone who would listen, so that he could see and feel the beauty and the silence of the dawn. His magic would flutter in his chest, reaching out silently in the earth below his feet, flowing inside him with the direction of the wind. It was hard to find peace anymore, peace in anything. While Stiles was not completely tranquil, he felt close. He felt like he was nearly to the point of letting go.

"Stiles."

And just like that, with one word, his magic fluttered higher and blossomed inside him body, radiating warmth at the sound of the voice that said his name. Stiles didn't need to turn around to know who it was. It was obvious.

"Derek," he said in way of greeting.

The man didn't come closer to him, just hovered in the door way. Stiles could feel his eyes on the back of his head, like a burning brand. His magic seemed to sense it, waving around his chest like it was on a swing.

"Will you tell them,” he asked suddenly, making Stiles turn to look at him. He could see the man's guilt, the confusion, and desperation. The desperation for Stiles to not say anything, at least not yet. Stiles wanted to tell the pack, to let the air become cleansed and let everything out. It may do more harm than good, but everyday it was becoming harder. Every day it was becoming more and more suffocating. All these secrets, misunderstandings, lies. Normally it wouldn't phase Stiles until he was alone, but as of late, it was becoming a weight on him. He meant it when he said Derek needed to show that he wanted a pack, that he needed to act like he gave a damn. It didn't mean he had to start with his worst choices. He could start small.

“It is not my place to tell. What would it prove?”

”That I-"

Stiles sighed heavily, turning back to his yard, but putting emphasis on his words, making them clear. "You almost died last night. I’m not sure how you are as okay as you are now. I’m not sure what all happened, but I know this. Everyone is alive. That’s good enough for now.”

"I guess that is a best option," the broody Alpha said behind him, shuffling his feet. "Knowing everyone is alive."

”Yeah I noticed Allison gone along for the ride. I think it’s safe to say you didn’t ask for her help," Stiles said in attempt to be a little lighthearted about the situation, but it coming out a littler bitter. Allison was a human, but he couldn't fault her. She didn't know about Stiles' plans and he doubted anyone in the pack told her. Stiles believed she had been keeping tabs on them, finding her own way in to help, even if not on the front lines. He had to give the girl props for that.

"Really." Derek huffed behind him. "From the daughter of a long historical hunting family, the one who shot two of my betas and let her grandfather torture them.”

Stiles stiffened at the mention of Gerard. He couldn’t help it. It was quickly followed by a spike of rage. His magic following suite with a rise in warmth. He supposed it was too much to ask for the Alpha to not notice. If the man couldn't smell his emotions, then he most certainly could see his back straighten like a pole. "Yeah well," he cleared his throat before continuing. "They would have helped you know. Chris understands the threat the Alpha's are. He wants this town safe from them as much as you do.”

"He wants this town safe from all like me," he growled.

"I will not deny that he has made questionable choices. His blindness stems from his father, from his twisted childhood under that man. But tell me, has he ever gone against the code? Has he ever gone as far as his own family has?”

Derek was silent for for a while. It was a few moments longer after that Stiles turned to look at him, thinking the man had left. Instead he found him still standing there, brow furrowed, his gaze distant until he saw Stiles looking at him. "Doesn’t mean he hasn’t come very close. It’s a fine line to cross.”

Stiles conceded a nod. "True. But then you will never know unless you ask. Not everyone is like _them_."

He wasn't referring to Chris or even Allison. He was speaking about two people that has affected Derek harsh ways. Two people of the Argent family who have sunken their figurative claws in him and had torn away at his already fragile soul. It was them that Stiles knows has Derek always on edge and rightly so. Stiles himself has seen the dark side of humanity, the insanity that is caused by their own greed and fear. He has been a victim of it too. So was Stiles trying to convince Derek about them or himself?

"No," Derek says gently, meeting Stiles' gaze. "They are not." His kaleidoscope eyes like searing brands meeting his. Stiles found himself seeing more colors in those eyes with each passing day. 

“What’s done is done," he says eventually as he forces himself to turn away from those mesmerizing eyes. "Choices have been made. Now we have to live with them.”

"What...what if I want to take it back?" Derek had asked softly behind him.

Stiles looked back at him, unable to say anything. What could he say? Was Derek saying that...he wanted to take back what he said? That wasn't Derek. Derek never apologizes, but then that wasn't right. The man did last night. He did, in more words than Stiles expected. Stiles still was surprised by that, but he was strangely...proud? Was he proud? Proud of Derek for apologizing or proud because Stiles got Derek to lower himself down a notch? Last night Derek was recovering from being nearly dead, he was guilty for being caught doing something other than what he should be doing, he was frustrated and confused. More than anything he looked lost. Derek was lost. Stiles could tell this nearly every time he looked at Derek. The man wouldn't admit it, would probably die before saying that out loud, but Stiles could see it. He didn't know how to help. He expected Derek would bite his hand off if he even tried.

Seeing the man last night and now, looking unsure and smaller than usual, less growly, it made Stiles blink twice, and his magic seemed to hover closer to the Alpha, like it too wanted to help. This was not something stiles expected from the surly Alpha, and he didn't know what to do in this moment.

At that moment his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to see it wasn’t his dad. It was a little odd since it was still very early in the morning and schools wouldn't be starting for another couple hours. It wasn’t unusual since sometimes his dad called to say he wasn’t staying later, especially since Stiles has it been sleeping for most of husband nights. His dad knew it, even spent a few early mornings with him when he came home to find his son at the table drinking coffee, reading through his mother Grimoire. stepping off the last step he stood up to answer the call and give himself a little more space from the Alpha. Said man remained where he was standing just a little outside the door, still looking troubled even after Stiles answered the phone. 

“Hey dad,” he aid slowly. 

“Son-“

”You on your way back?”

"It's happened again, kid." He heard down the line. He stiffened, knowing what his dad was leading to. It meant there was another murder. Another sacrifice. This was different though. His dad sounded more raspy, more strained. If Stiles listened closer he could hear little breaths coming from his father down the line. This was not like last time. Noah never called him when there was a new body. He never called him, he would wait till he got home, or when word of mouth got around. The only exception was Heather. She was a blindside. She was a case that Noah was caught off guard for.

"Who?" He asked without thinking, not bothering to worry about the faces that were inevitably cross his mind. Derek standing nearby, listening carefully, his face a scowl.

"Tara..." Noah cleared his throat a couple times before continuing. "I mean...Deputy Graeme."

Stiles could feel his pulse elevate, the sinking feeling in his gut grow heavier. "Dad...I-"

"I know son. I know." It was clear his dad was affected. Tara had been a deputy since Stiles was a kid. She had been around since she was first hired on, fresh out of the academy. She used to help Stiles with his homework when he would stay at the department after school. When his mom was sick, Tara would sometimes drive him to and from school when his dad was too busy. She was the first person to let him try coffee, it was the station coffee so it sucked, but still. She was the first person Stiles always saw at the station, a warm smile on her face when she saw him, something he always could count on when he went by. Now...that wasn't going to happen anymore. She used to be a teacher before she came to the force, before she chose to protect and serve. And-

Wait a minute.

"Philosopher," he whispered, making Derek turn his eyes on him.

"What," his dad asked down the line.

"S-she was a teacher," Stiles said, his mind putting the pieces together.

"Yeah, before she went to the academy and all, she used to teach fourth grade. Did that for a couple years out of college."

"A Philosopher."

Derek stepped closer to him, speculation on his face, waiting almost expectantly as he waited. "You mean-"

Stiles nodded before he finished. "The evil magic user, witch, or whatever, has moved on to the next set of sacrifices."

"Stiles what are you talking about," he heard from Noah.

"Dad, there's a few things that I haven't told you."

He could hear his dad sigh heavily on the other end of the line. He could practically see his dad looking heavenward, and then wipe a hand down his face. If Stiles imagined more worry lines etched into his face, making his guilt spike, then no one else needed to know. "Do these things have to deal with the current string of killings that have been going on? The ones that I told you to stay out of."

Stiles bit his bottom lip, avoiding both saying anything and looking at Derek as he waited. He heard another long sigh before his dad spoke again. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You always had a knack for investigating. But I am telling you now to stop."

"Wait, Dad-"

"No." He says tersely, making Stiles stop and Derek's scowl return. "I am not asking this time. This is getting out of hand. I don't care if this is supernatural or normal. One of my deputies is now dead."

"But-"

"The FBI is already here and the state department has sent officers down as well to help with investigations. Word has already gotten out that this has gotten out of control and with more bodies showing up I am inclined to agree. So I am telling you, and you can tell your friends to stay out of this. This is now a federal investigation and there will be a curfew issued starting tonight."

"The memorial recital tonight."

"It starts at seven and will end by nine. Curfew will be at 9:30 from here on out and I expect you to be home. No questions."

Stiles was starting to feel backed into a corner. It wasn't helping that he could hear his dad was stressed. The fact that the FBI was involved now made this worse. It meant this was no longer contained and that everything surrounding the bodies would be watched. The curfew was just the icing on top. Stiles wanted to argue, wanted to say that his magic could help, but in truth he didn't know how. It hasn't helped him to find the magic user. That was something his dad didn't know. His dad didn't have all the facts. He needed to tell him, but he wasn't sure it would help. As the acting Sheriff, the investigation went to the FBI and his dad was now acting as support. He couldn't do anything against that. He would lose his job. That has happened once already, Stiles was not looking for a second time. It didn't matter if this was supernatural, the FBI would handle this however their protocols dictated.

Seeing no other way to appease his father, Stiles agreed. Soon after quick goodbyes, he hangs up. Derek still stood there with that same broody expression, his body tense. Stiles didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to do. He was at a loss. 

He got up instead, not looking st Derek as he moved.He quietly headed upstairs,nearly kicking a still sleeping Jackson as he maneuvered around the bodies. He wasn’t going to think about all of them here at his house, sleeping in his living room. He wasn’t going to think about the implications of that or why they wanted to stay in the first place. He went upstairs to his room and quickly changed into a pair of track shorts and an old tee before shoving his feet into his sneakers. Grabbing his phone and headphones and going back downstairs. 

He needed to  get out of here. He needed to clear is head and his body of energy Andy too many thoughts. The best way for h to do that was to focus on one thing  and let his body go through the motions. He could have called Chris to train and go through some drills with weapons or spar a bit this morning, but it would have raised too many questions. Stupid werewolves and their stupid enhanced hearing. 

He nearly made it to the door when Derek stopped him. "Where are you going?"

”Out. I need to...I need to think.”

"Then think here," the man said, stepping further in front of him. "After last night, we don’t know what to expect from the Alpha's.”

”No _your pack_ doesn’t know what do expect from them. I’m a nobody, plain and simple.”

Derek was already shaking his head before Stiles finished. “No Stiles-“

”I am not going to argue. I just need a breather," he said as he tried put his headphones around his neck.

”You are staying here. And you have school.”

He shrugged, just wanting to leave. Wanting air that wasn't in this house. "School will still be there when I come back.”

"Stiles will you stop," he heard the werewolf growl.

He ignored the wolf before reaching for the door, only for him to spun away from it and have his back pushed flat against the wall next beside it. Derek pressed him up flat, his hands fisting his shirt tightly, a low rumble coming from his chest. Stiles was momentarily surprised by this turn of events that he immediately went still. It wasn't from fear or from the surprise really, but from a flood of memories running through his head. Of a time before Alphas, misunderstandings, magic, and nightmares rearing their heads. When it was rather simpler, as odd as that was to mention. It brought Stiles back to when Derek did this rather often, just to get his points across or to intimidate the teen, the both of them butting heads only to agree anyway, even if reluctantly. A common ground. It was a feeling of nostalgia that made him unable to react first like he had been training to do.

It made Stiles' heart skip a beat and the corners of his mouth twitch upward. Derek didn't seem to notice as he pressed further, his face close to Stiles'. The teen could feel the warmth breath on his skin from the Alpha, mirroring the heat of his body. Stiles would be lying if he said he something didn't stir in his gut from it. His magic seemed to do the same, almost like it was preening inside him, fanning out inside his body, but hovering under the spots where Derek's hands were. What's up with that? Stiles had always known Derek to be handsome, unfairly so, but this close he could see it even more so. The dark stubble, soft skin, those damn expressive eyebrows, and above all the eyes that didn't seem to have one clear color. Stiles had to look away and focus on something else before he said something ridiculous. Of course that led to the Alpha's mouth, where it was turned downward a bit, his jaw tight, as he continued to wait for Stiles to give up. They were a smooth set of pink lips, soft looking and-

_Fucking, hell no. Stop it, stop it, stop it!_

What the hell? That is not where he should be going with any of this. Where did that come from? That was never going to happen. Never ever. Stiles pressed back against the wall, taking a quick breathe before meeting Derek's gaze fully. He couldn't help it as he gave a minute crooked twitch of his lips, his voice coming out raspier than he wanted.

"Are you going to kidnap me, Hale? Hold me prisoner here," he mocked. It was meant to be good naturedly, but Stiles realized too late the weight of the words he spoke.

Derek immediately let go, stepping back with wide eyes, a breathe leaving him like Stiles had just delivered a low blow. It was a low blow actually, one that Stiles didn't mean to say. He could see the shame rolling over the man, followed closely by fear and something else he couldn't identify before Derek schooled his features, taking one more step back, curling his hands into fists as if to keep them from doing anything else. Stiles wanted to say something else, tell him it was a joke. It wasn't funny given Stiles' past, but if Stiles couldn't joke about it then wouldn't it always haunt him? Would it always cause him to fear? Either way it was clear that it was too soon. So without much else to do, he pushed away from the wall slowly, a little hesitant on if Derek would turn around a run. He took a deep breath, keeping his eyes on the floor, despite knowing that Derek was tracking his every movement.

"I'll be fine," Stiles said eventually. "Let the others know what's going on if they wake up. I'll...be back later."

Without another word or glance, he went out the door, leaving the pack in his house. He didn't notice when Derek stood in his doorway, watching him as he jogged down his road, putting his headphones in his ears. His face stoic, but his eyes pained.

"He'll be fine," Derek heard behind him, turning to see Danny coming from the living room. He was ruffled from sleep, but awake. His own face somber. "He needs this."

Derek didn't know what to say to that. What could he say? Danny knew Stiles better than he did, he got closer to Stiles than Derek ever did, ever dared to. Stiles didn't fear him, but maybe he feared what Derek would do to get his way. Derek himself was fearful of that. After all, less than twelve hours ago he was close to having sex with a woman he didn't know, over making sure his pack was safe and okay. What kind of Alpha was he? How could he trust what he would do when he couldn't make good decisions that he remembered? So despite what his instincts, what his wolf was howling at him to do, he shoved it all aside, closing the door. It didn't erase the feeling of dread he felt in his gut.

*** * * * * * ***

Stiles had no idea how long he was there. When he awoke, he came he was lying half on top of a wooden surface. He had no idea what happened after he passed out, but apparently it was nothing special. He was lying on the surface of the Nemeton, his hand still outstretched on the it's large base, the rough wood under his cheek. He expected another rush of images, flooding his mind and sending him spiraling into another state of dizziness, but it never came. He originally was just going for a run earlier this morning, but then he changed his mind and ran into the woods behind someone's house. Thankfully no one noticed. He wasn't worried about losing his way and he still wasn't. At the time, all he wanted was to put some distance between him and the town. The few minutes with Derek was enough to shake him a little, add the death of someone he has known for many years, Tara, and he just wanted some space. He was angry and sad, guilt ridden over Tara. Pissed that someone else he had known and cared for for many years was gone. She may not have been like family, but she was a friend. Just like Heather. That is two people he has lost to this murderer. Two people he will never see again. All for the hunger of power. It was sickening and it made him want to blow. It also terrified him. One more body, one more on top of others. The count was piling up and he feared how many more would come. He feared the faces that could be next.

With Derek, he didn't even want to touch on all of that. He may have issues with the Alpha, but there was nothing else. The man was damaged and complicated and Stiles would not get more involved. The Alpha wouldn't want that anyway. Despite last night and this morning, Stiles knew that he and Derek still had no reached an understanding. Sure Stiles knew the man was confused and upset, but Stiles couldn't help him with that. Derek didn't ask for his help and Stiles will not offer. It was not his place. They had two common enemies, mostly Stiles was focusing on the magic user right now, but at the end of the day, when those threats were gone, nothing would change. Slowly, he pushed himself up, looking around him. He was still in the clearing, still alone. Flexing his stiff muscles and rolling his ankles and shoulders, he stood up fully on his own.

It looked to be close to early afternoon. He didn't mean to be out so long. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone. Sure enough he had multiple missed phone calls and over a dozen text messages all asking where he was, if he was okay, to please respond. He had one call from his dad, a couple calls and texts from Danny, Scott, Lydia and even two from Isaac and Peter. There was also two texts from a number he didn't have a name to.

**Unknown: [8:20 am] You said you would be back.**

**Unknown: [11:33 am] At least tell me you are okay.**

He didn't have to guess who it was. The last message made Stiles' chest tight. He didn't expect Derek to text him. He must have gotten his number from one of the others. It was a surprise he willingly reached out, and even more so that he seemed...worried. The tightness didn't leave him as he texted out a mass group text to them all, saying that he was fine and that had lost track of time and forgot about school. Told them he would talk to them all later. He got a few affirmatives and that was it.

He didn’t mean to be out so long. When he traveled into the woods it was supposed to be a little while. That was until he heard the thrumming call of the Nemeton. It was not exactly planned but he wasn’t going to turn away this experience as he was guided to the ancient tree. He had only been near the Nemeton once. Well three times if you count the Astral realm, but he didn’t. It wasn’t the Nemeton he knew so for all he could tell it was just a tree on another plane of existence.

Either way when he arrived, he didn’t hesitate to get close enough to touch. Like last time he was overwhelmed with images and flashes in his mind. Everything from blood dripping from the tree, to a set of red glowing eyes, to a glimpse of white eyes behind long dark hair and a mischievous smile, and finally crystal blue eyes gazing deep into his soul. It all cultivated to blurs and made him want to close his eyes, close away from the onslaught. Before he blacked out he heard a piercing scream, rattling his bones and shaking around him, something that sounded familiar to him, like he knew it. Now here he was, walking back to his house, long since too late to go to school. The images replaying in his mind and not really making sense. Sure it seemed obvious that the red eyes could be the alphas but he wasn’t sure. Everything else was much the same, he could guess and maybe be right. But his doubts we’re too much for him to be confident.

He didn’t know why the Nemeton gave him these images. Was it a reaction to husband magic. Was it his magic doing this? Was he going crazy and overthinking it all? He didn’t get much chance to think about it before a snap of a twig caught his attention off to his left. Glancing over he saw a quick flash of something black between the trees, moving quickly.

”Hey,” he called out. 

The figure stopped and turned, and Stiles nearly gasped. Feeling his magic coil and his skin crawl. The figure was covered in dark clothes and and large cloak. hood over it’s head. In a mere second Stiles saw pale skin beneath the hood, a scarred face, and bright eyes. 

Then it was gone, running through the forest. Stiles didn’t think as he gave chase. He didn’t know what that was, it was a creature of sorts. His magic wasn’t burning under his skin, sliding into husband muscles and urging him on, telling him to keep going. It sat in his chest poised and ready. His concentrated on his magic, pushing it into his legs so he could catch up. Through the trees he jumped over rocks and edged around shrubbery. trying to catch the creature. He didn't know if it was human or not, witch, another mage, or something else, either way he was sure this was the magic user. It had to be.

He was still behind it, the dark form moving through the forest like dark ribbons on the wind. From what he could tell it’s form with lithe and slender, smaller than him. Sending out his magic he aimed to slow it down, or stop it, but before his magic even reached his target, the creature turned around, baring its front for Stiles to see. It was covered completely by it's dark black cloak, the hood big enough to cover it's head. It's face was the only color, or well color that wasn't black. Just as Stiles thought it was pale with a shredded face. It was scarred and disfigured, looking like it was snarling and screaming at the same time. It's bright eyes were not bright, at least not in the best sense, they were bright, but they were a gleaming white. In the split moment the figure waved it's arms and then Stiles was being thrown backwards. He landed on the ground kicking dirt up around him and knocking the air from his lungs. In the next second vines grew around him, locking around his wrists to him there.

Struggling, Stiles fought against the growing fines as they wrapped further up his arms. He was stunned by the sudden force of the magic sent at him. It caused him to go light headed, bringing with it a nauseating motion that made him want to gag. It made his hairs stand on end and his mouth go dry. Swallowing around the bitter taste in his mouth he tried to focus on getting out of his predicament. With a flash of his own eyes, he muttered a spell, severing his bonds, ripping his arms free. Getting back up he scrambled to try and find the magic user, prepared to protect himself. But there was nothing. No one else around but him. He tried to find the killer, but he was alone.

"Shit," he muttered.

He didn't have time to use his magic to find a trail or to head in the other direction in hopes of running across the creature, because he felt something run through his body. A shiver and dip in his chest that made his heart flutter. Equally so, his stomach dropped. It felt like...fear. What was he afraid of? He wasn't afraid, he was alone, so what was there for him to worry about?

It took him a moment to realize it wasn't him that felt fear. It was Danny. The link he felt with his friend, vibrating through him, making him feel fear that wasn't his own, but oddly felt like it should be. Without thinking, he started to run. Lacrosse should be ending around this time, so maybe Danny was still at the school. He needed to get to Danny. Maybe the magic user was at the school now. Maybe Danny was witnessing another murder. Maybe Danny was-

No, he wasn't going to think about anything more. He just had to get to Danny. Pushing himself harder, willing his magic into his legs, he ran through the forest like he was a supernatural creature. Like he was a werewolf hunting prey. Only he wasn't going after prey, he was going after something more important.

*** * * * * * ***

Covered in sweat and limbs that felt like jelly used to be more fun. Or at least there were other ways to get both of those effects that were more fun than Lacrosse. Danny was exiting off the field balancing his stick and helmet in his hands as he walked. He felt sore, a little bruised, but he has had worse. Heading back to the lockers to get a quick shower, he wanted to get back home and get in some lazy time before coming back for the recital. He was worried, partially because Stiles wasn't in school today and because of everything else. Lydia was on edge more so than usual, everyone was in a state of sadness and fear. Stiles was working non-stop to try and find the magic user while the threat of the Alpha pack was still looming in the background. After the disappearance of their history teacher, Mr. Westover yesterday, Danny was wanting to stay away from the school. Everyday he was getting more and more reasons to leave Beacon Hills, but each time he talked himself out of it. He wasn't a coward. He couldn't run and besides, where would he go? He was a Hedge witch, he had no resources. He also couldn't do that to his grandma or his friends. Not to Stiles, Lydia, even Jackson. He also didn't want to leave without knowing just one kiss from that Alpha twin.

Yes, yes it was a bad idea. Yes it was wrong and the guy was evil and all, but Danny couldn't help it. He was sweet and cute and had some nice abs. But above all, he was sweet. It was a surprise given how he was an Alpha with a dark past. Danny had to play dumb and not let Ethan know that Danny knew about everything, that he was a witch, but it didn't seem to matter to Ethan. It didn't seem to matter that he was 'human' and seemingly had no clue.

Stiles didn't like it and most definitely was against it, but Stiles could get over it. After all his attraction to Derek Hale of all people was not the best choice either. Danny isn't stupid. There was attraction there, he knew it dammit.

Anyway, with more killings happening, after the deputy and their teacher, Danny was on edge. It was weighing more heavily on Stiles now. His father was catering to the town's worries and now had the FBI and state on his back. Stiles was trying to find ways to find the killer. They still didn't even know what kind of magic user they were dealing with. Then the Alpha pack was still a problem. After the showdown the pack had with them (without the humans involved) they have not heard anything from them. It was only today that the twins came back to school, but they looked different. More tense and solemn. Aidan looked twitchy and Ethan seemed in a daze. Peter and Cora were going to see if they could find out what happened after they all left, see if Ennis was still alive since he fell with Derek that night. Danny hasn't heard anything yet.

So there he was showering, taking his time, trying to relieve some stress and let it flow down the drain in the hot water. He was last in the rooms today, Scott heading over to Deaton's for his shift, Isaac, Boyd, and Jackson going to Derek's for training so none of them bothered to shower yet. Since Stiles quit the team, despite Danny's attempts at getting him not to, it left Danny alone today. Stiles didn't come to school today, choosing instead to do more research, said he was going to try and find a deeper connection. He didn't elaborate on that. So far though, all Danny could feel from him was exhaustion and stress, both of which was a constant anymore.

Danny didn't know how to help. Stiles had it set in his mind that he had to find the answer, even if it meant giving up sleep and living his life for it.

Shutting off the water, he climbed out, drying himself quickly so he could head home. If he was coming back tonight to perform, he needed to get his tuba ready, and get his homework started. He'll check on Stiles when he got home. Putting on his pants and shoes and about to pull on his shirt, he heard a whistle from behind him. Startled he turned around to see Ethan, staring at him with a look of both humor and appreciation.

"If I had known Lacrosse could be so athletically demanding, I would have watched."

Danny cracked a smile. "I'm not opposed to a having fans watching."

"Well Daniel," Ethan purred at him, stepping closer to him, a crooked smile on his face, his eyes bright. "Are you appealing to voyeuristic tendencies?"

"I can't appeal to what I am not aware of."

By that time, Ethan was now in front of him, Danny still holding his shirt in his hands. He watched as Ethan's eyes scanned his torso, making a shivering warmth cross over Danny under his gaze. It was like a thrill. A rush of both adrenaline and endorphins. 

"What about now?" Ethan asked in a whisper.

Danny couldn't help it as he pressed forward, giving a kiss on Ethan's lips. It was chaste, feather light, and warm. It was meant as a brief exchange, simple and still unsure. But Ethan growled pushing back against him until Danny's back met the lockers, making him gasp at the cold touch to his heated skin. He acted like he didn't notice the growl, but he was still surprised by the still gentleness of the embrace. Ethan pressed close, aligning his chest to Danny's, but keeping the rest of himself away. Danny thought that might be for the best. He still wasn't too sure about Ethan, Alpha and bad werewolf and all, but still he couldn't deny the rush he felt at this. He couldn't deny the attraction and the sweetness that Ethan has showed him. The past two months of school has had them get to know each other in the classes they shared and surprisingly Danny liked what he saw and heard. 

He just wasn't sure. Could he trust Ethan?

It didn't stop Danny from feeling the stutter in his chest as Ethan kissed him deeper. The wolf trailed his hands down Danny's body, softly running his fingers over his defined chest and contracting abs. Danny reciprocated, his own hands roaming over Ethan's broad shoulders, rubbing down his biceps, squeezing softly. The werewolf growled again, but softer, nearly like a sigh. When they broke apart, Ethan pecked him again, giving a smile that brightened his face. Danny couldn't resist licking his kiss bruised lips, trying to ignore the arousal that was settling in his gut and the way Ethan was tracking his tongue with his eyes.

Ethan chuckled at him, as he remained close, still pressing his warm chest against Danny's, a contrast of warm and cool from him and the lockers. "Sorry," he said, trying to be modest even though he clearly wasn't.

"No your not," Danny said with a wry smile. "But neither am I."

It was true, Danny realized. He was being honest. He didn't regret kissing Ethan, he doesn't regret getting close to him, or learning more about him, even if none of it is true. It's been a while since anyone has made Danny smile, gone out of their way to make Danny feel special, all warm and tingly. It's been a while since he has taken a tumble behind closed doors with someone, but that wasn't what he was thinking, at least trying not to think about. He doesn't know what to think about Ethan. A part of him hopes that Ethan is being truthful, telling him actual, real things, about him, but he isn't sure. Is Ethan's favorite ice cream really cookie dough? Or is the Alpha spinning a tale?

"Anyway, I need to get ready to come back tonight for the concert," Danny said, as he balance is shirt in his hand as he closed his locker, zipping up his bag. Ethan nodded, an odd look passing over his face, but Danny not wanting to ask. Danny wasn't sure if the any of the Alphas would show up tonight, but he hoped Ethan would. However, with what all had happened the other night, he wouldn't be surprised if Deucalion wanted to spend the night going after the pack. He was about to ask Ethan if he was going, when he saw the other boy looking down. His eyebrows inching inward in confusion.

"What’s that?" 

Danny looked down. Seeing the outer edge of his Celtic knot scar, the link he shared with Stiles, poking out underneath his shirt still sitting lazily on his arm. Quickly he brushed the shirt over his arm. 

"Nothing." 

"What was that? What happened to you?" Ethan asked, his voice laced with concern as he reached for Danny.

It was nothing. Just an accident."

That was the wrong thing to say. The spurred Ethan on his attempt to see. "Let me see," he said grasping Danny' arm, bringing up to see it better.

"No Ethan it’s fine. Don’t-"

It was too late. He could see the moment Ethan's eyes saw the mark, saw it the moment he put it together. The guy was not dumb. Danny would have been surprised if he didn’t recognize a ruin when he saw it. Apparently it was enough for him to look back up at Danny with wide eyes, his mouth slightly ajar, his grip loosening before tightening. Like he wasn't sure what to do.

Danny tried took his arm away quickly, pulling his long sleeved shirt over his head to cover the mark. "Ethan..."

”Your the witch.”

"No I, Ethan it’s not, I-"

"Your the witch," he said again, more forcefully. 

"Let me explain please," Danny tried. His heart was beating in his chest. He didn't mean for this to happen. He knew the Alpha's were looking for the witch that tricked them. The one they didn't know was Stiles who made them seem foolish so the pack could rescue the betas. It was one thing for the pack to think Danny was the witch, but for Ethan, one of the Alpha pack. It suddenly made him fear about what would happen now.

He didn’t get the chance to worry much longer. Ethan immediately pulled him towards him but instead of against his body, he was pulling his towards the door, quickly leading out of the locker room and in the empty hall. 

"Ethan, Ethan wait," Danny stammered, trying to break free from the wolf's grip.

”I can't. I have to take you to Duke. If I don’t-“

”I can help.”

”No," Ethan growled, making a cold shiver run through Danny. "You have done enough. I should have known you were pack when I saw you talking with a few of them, hanging with them. Evening getting in one of their cars. It made sense but then...I thought maybe...I could be wrong...”

”I am not pack. Yes I’m a witch, but come on. You can’t do this.”

"I'm sorry."

"Ethan stop. You know me," he pleaded.

"Apparently not as well as I wanted."

Danny felt his gut twist at that confession, but he decided to not wait around for the chance of seeing the Big Alpha Bad. He reached for his magic, feeling it flicker and the talisman around his throat heat up. He used it on the metallic bracelet around his wrist, the one Ethan's hand was grasping over, holding him in a strong grip. focusing it started to heat up and then burn. He only made it on the outside surface so he wouldn’t burn himself, but he had to do it quickly.

“Ow shit,” Ethan hissed out as he jerked his hand away. Danny took the chance to throw his arm back knocking Ethan’s face with his elbow, before taking off.

He ran down the hall hearing a growl from Ethan behind him. He practically felt like the Alpha was a looming presence behind him and now that said Alpha viewed him as an enemy, he didn't want to stick around. Heading for exit, he was nearly there. Outside there had to be people around. Anyone to make sure that if they saw something, they could report it. His heart was hammering in his chest. It had been a while since he felt this kind of adrenaline and fear. The last time was in the woods with Stiles and those Wraiths. That was no less of an enjoyable experience than this one. What made this worse was that he was alone. He didn't have the energy to fight off an Alpha wolf. He hauled down the hall nearly close to one of the exit doors, turning the corner, looking behind him to see if Ethan was near. Because he wasn't watching his front, he didn't see who was waiting for him. He was slammed into some lockers, a constricting force around his throat.  

Aidan was before him with a smirk, his eyes bright red. "Ain't this sweet. Did my little brother get too rough with you?"

"Let go," Danny wheezed, trying pry the hand off.

"Nah," he said simply, squeezing tighter, making Danny struggled to breathe even more. He felt his blood heat, his face grow red as he lost air flow. Spots were dotting his vision and his body felt heavy.

”Aidan stop,” Ethan said behind his brother. His face pinched and worried.

"He’s the witch,” Aidan said with a sneer. "I am just taking precaution. Although I'm not sure why Deucalion wants him. He doesn't seem to be that tricky."

Using what he could of his waning energy Danny muttered out a raspy spell. This was a desperate attempt now. His lack of air was making it harder for him and he was struggling to stay awake. Feeling his magic swell from the necklace and branch out, guided by his Spark, he took a note out of Stiles' playbook. A flash of light and a little spark later, Aidan jacket caught on fire, eating at his arm, reaching towards his face. Aidan let him go, shaking out his arm, trying to take off his jacket without touching the flames. His snarls and growls bouncing off the hallway walls. Ethan quickly hopped on top of him to put out the flames while Danny slumped to the ground, gasping in deep lungfuls of breath. He felt like he just ran a marathon on minimal sleep. He was drained and he could feel the sweat coating his forehead, blurs on his vision, like he was suffering from dehydration. Stupid advanced spells. He needed to make a break for it if he could get his body to respond. He had to find Stiles or Lydia, anybody from the pack would do too.

As the wolves put out the flames, wisps of smoke rising and floating in the hall, he tried to push himself to his feet to leave. When the wolves came closer to him snarling, or Aidan was anyway, Ethan looked upset, he felt his stomach drop. Then in flash both boys were pushed off their feet, thrown down the hall nearly two doors away. Danny had to look twice to make sure he had not passed out. He watched as they rolled before, looking up with bright red eyes. Danny was confused. He hadn’t done that so...

"Hello boys,” came a voice from the other side of Danny. He turned to see Stiles walking down the hall from the now closing exit door, completely open and innocent smile on his face. If it wasn’t for the glimmer in his eyes, Danny would have thought he was crazy or not aware of anything. He stopped near Danny, but made no other movement, sparing Danny a quick flick of his eyes, silently asking if he was okay. The two wolves didn’t seem to think about what had happened. Aidan snarled flashing his eyes in an attempt to scare Stiles, thinking he was not aware of who or what Aidan was. 

"Get lost, loser.”

Stiles didn’t do anything and when he just remained there Aidan seemed to have enough. He stalked towards him but he didn’t get far. He suddenly stopped about midway there, then tried to keep going but he didn't manage to. He twitched in place. Looking down at his feet he tried to take a step that was futile. He growled seeming unconcerned about if Stiles could hear it or not. Ethan slowly got up behind Aidan, watching as his brother struggled, not quite understanding what was happening. Danny saw him look over at him, uncertainty on his face, but when his brother started to seethed more loudly they broke eye contact. When Aidan tries too hard, jerking himself in a full body attempt to break free in his frustration and anger, there was a loud snap as his ankle broke. Making him snarl and his teeth lengthen, his eyes bright red and claws out.

”Ouch.” Stiles said.

As it were, it became clear to the wolves that the blast had not come from Danny. Aidan looked furious as he met Stiles' calm gaze, while Ethan looked both taken aback and worried. Aidan was grunting as his ankle was at an odd angle, but he was healing, holding his body perfectly still as it stitched back together. Both boys looking from Danny to Stiles, realizing that they indeed had something wrong here.

Stiles didn't move the whole time, stoically at ease, but his face turned more serious in a split second the smile falling away, his eyes turning to a liquid amber, glowing as his magic made itself known.

”I think we should talk,” Stiles said with a glint in his eyes that Danny has seen before.

If the way that Ethan and Aidan seemed wary by the offer and tensed as they say Stiles' eyes glow equally as bright as their own, then this was going to be interesting.

Danny was so not going home just yet. This he wanted to watch.

*** * * * * * ***

"You did what?”

Stiles and Danny were at the loft, Peter standing across from them, looking like he wanted to shake them both but also stared at them like they had two heads. They had spent the past fifteen minutes explaining what all happened at the school. Prior to that, Stiles had told Danny what he had been doing all day. Since Stiles missed school. He told Danny about being in the woods, stumbling across the Nemeton, which Danny wanted to press on, but they didn't have time for that. Danny was grateful for Stiles apparently 'feeling' his fear and surprised that Stiles was able to feel him from so far away. They didn't mention any of that to Peter, despite him asking where Stiles was this morning, but he seemed to forget about that after they told him about the twins.

"What part did you choose to not listen to," Stiles asked with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh I heard all of it," Peter snarked back, "but I can't seem to decide if you are crazy or not."

Stiles snickered. "Your asking me that question when _your_ sanity has already been off it’s rocker."

Peter growled, while Danny smirked. The older man ran a hand over his face. "What you did was dangerous. Your playing against their instincts as Alphas as well as Betas."

That made sense since the twins were both. Acting as Betas to Deucalion, even though they had the power of Alphas themselves. They had two instincts, two drives. But it was more than that. "That maybe, but I am also giving them a choice. One to stand against Deucalion if the opportunity comes."

"And if they leak out that you are the 'witch' Deucalion seeks?" Peter asks with a worry in his eyes. "What is to stop him from coming after you? At school, here?"

Stiles had thought of that. But he's not going to let up on this. Peter's fears are justified, but Stiles knows the twins won't do that. "They won't. They will help."

"What makes your think they will do that?" 

"For the very same reasons they heard me out to begin with. For the same reasons they were the ones to watch over Erica, Boyd and Cora. For them still being fearful if they did not do what Deucalion wants." Stiles spoke confidently, he was sure about this.

"Oh God you think they are kind-hearted and just misunderstood, don't you," Peter nearly whined, his face grimacing.

"Of course not. They are not 'nice' they are not without their faults and those faults run deep." When Danny was about to speak, probably going to speak in defense for Ethan, Stiles said, "Later," he said, urging Danny to understand. They will so talk about his affections for the Alpha and how dumb it was to get mixed up in all of that. All that muscle and chiseled features and...okay so Stiles could see where the attraction was. But that was all. _Sue me!_ "They stem from fear. They have blood on their hands just as much as the other alphas but it is not malicious. I can’t really explain it but...I can tell that they don’t want this. They are stuck, trapped and can’t see a way out that doesn’t end in their demise."

"You can tell?" Danny asks with curiosity.

Stiles shrugs. "I don’t know. It’s like...a feeling. They are not innocent by any means, but they are not heartless. They are not power hungry. Their actions don't fit with the others. While they may be aiming for intimidation, it’s...uncertain. They hesitated when I saw them try to take Danny. Whether that is from Ethan liking Danny or not I’m not sure but it is a point."

Peter glances at Danny with exasperation and like he has lost his mind, which Danny promptly ignores. Eventually Peter states, "Your saying they want out."

"At this point, I’m not prone to rule anything out."

Stiles couldn't really explain it. It truly was a feeling. One that he felt when he stared at both Alphas earlier that afternoon. It was a sense of insecurity, fear, shame, anger. He could see all of that, but where it was all coming from, he wasn't sure. He could feel there was more to this and his magic seemed to agree. Peter may not be able to tell all of this, could not understand what his magic was telling him, but Stiles had to try and get him to think about it.

"They are killers Stiles," Peter said. _Apparently it was going to be a work in progress_ , Stiles thought.

"And I’m not? Or you for that matter?" Stiles said without thinking. In all honesty, he wasn't trying to be harsh, but then the truth often was. He forgot though that Peter didn't know about the hunters, the Elves, or anything else he has killed except the Selkies. He didn't know what Stiles had to do to survive the early months of summer.

"What," the man said catching on quickly.

"Stiles-" 

He just waived his hand at Danny telling him to not say anything on the subject. It was Stiles fault for letting that one slip. He swallowed around the lump in his throat before plowing forward, "Regardless of past, I believe there is more to it than we know. Am I wrong to want to help them choose a different life?

Peter studied him for a moment, his scrutinizing gaze settling heavy on Stiles. Stiles didn't even fidget, not feeling the need to. The gaze used to unsettle him, even Derek's used to make him feel uneasy, antsy and nervous, but he has grown used to it. Grown to not sweat the things he used to. Eventually Peter spoke, slowly and conceding, "No you are not wrong, but I do worry about if they really _want_ that different life. Deucalion gave them that choice once and look at where it got them."

"Fair enough," Stiles said. That was a fear he had too. But, he was deciding to trust his gut. His gut was telling him to go with this. He needed to trust in this. But there was more that he had to talk about. Something far more pressing, at least to Stiles. "That is not all. I think I found our magic user. The one murdering people."

That sparked Peter's and Danny's interest. "Did you see who it was," Danny asked hurriedly.

"No. Whoever it was kept themselves covered and they have quite a few tricks. They are powerful and smart."

Peter growled, more in frustration than anger. Stiles couldn't help but agree. He was frustrated too, but mostly at himself for not being able to do more. He knew he was young with magic, but still, he has learned so much already. Surely he would be able to keep pace with some other magic user, right?

"Was it a witch," Peter asked.

"It’s a Darach," Danny says matter-of-factly, making both men look at him. He looks like he just got caught saying something in a foreign language.

"How do you know that," Stiles asks. This was news to him.

"The ritual itself is Druidic in nature," Danny explains. "While other magic users and disciplines can do it themselves, often times it is changed or altered to fit their purposes so they can draw as much power and influences as they can. A witch's power stems from potions and spells. Enchanters from artifacts. A Druid's power is drawn from nature. Meaning life itself. All of the rituals circles are completed by the deaths of those who symbolize them. You can’t take a statue of a Virgin Mary or Alexander the Great and destroy it to satisfy the ritual. This is both dark and blood magic wrapped in one. It draws on the darkest parts of nature, turning sacrifice into reward for the caster."

Peter seemed to nod in approval, a small smile on his face. "I can see why Stiles took lessons from you."

Danny chuckled, his cheeks turning a little pink under his tanned skin. "Yeah for the first month or so then it became I learning from him."

Peter arched an eyebrow confused. Stiles waved him off. They had other matters to attend to and they needed to get ready for tonight's memorial concert. Stiles didn't really want to go and see the faces of those that died, but he needed to. Plus Danny and Lydia were going, so he was going to go too. It made him feel better knowing they would be there.

"You have to let Derek know. The pack as well," Stiles says.

"About the twins?"

"No about why the Olympics is going to be held in South Korea next." 

Peter rolled his eyes before tilting the side of his mouth up. "Stiles that is not all. Yes, they need to know what is going on. If the twins are willing to help, the pack needs to know to not harm them. If you don't that will make the twins see that what you offer them is not better but worse. But you’ve been hiding your secret for months."

"There's many secrets I have been keeping for months. Secrets that are mine to keep and I will do so if I so choose. I don’t owe the pack anything and I most certainly do not owe them an explanation. As for the twins, all I gave them was a time table to think over my proposal. If they are willing to help the pack, to stand up to Deucalion, then they come to me rather than go to Derek first. The least likely for casualties."

Peter pursed his lips. "Derek might think you are planning things without him."

Stiles gaze grew a little dark at the comment. "Like you all did the other night? I thought even you had more faith in me."

Danny looked uncomfortable, but looked at Peter calmly, silently wondering the same thing. It was a challenge to the former Alpha. Stiles knew it and yet Peter only stood there without saying anything for a moment. A few emotions passed in his eyes and he looked to the floor. Whether it was from shame or from seeing Stiles' point, neither boy knew. "Fine," the man said after his silence. "We'll do this your way."

Stiles nodded. "I came to give you the heads up about it everything and since you know about me and Danny now. You can tell Derek about that it all when he comes back. Speaking of which, where is the Growly McGrowlerson."

Peter chuckled and shook his head a little but it was more subdued. “The lad is out with a Ms. Blake. Apparently she asked him out for coffee about an hour ago, wanted to talk.”

"Ms. Blake as in our Enlgish/chemistry teacher," Danny asked with wide eyes.

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that. He felt something pass through him, something he couldn’t pinpoint. His magic somersaulted, radiating heat. Suddenly it felt he didn’t know what to feel. Was it anger that filled his mind, emptiness as the sinking feeling settled in his stomach, or uncertainty as his heart skipped every other beat? Turns out he didn’t have an answer. So he nodded his head giving a small smile that didn’t feel right to him. Following Danny out of the flat to prepare for the concert tonight. 

*** * * * * * ***

Lydia was strangely antsy tonight. Like a prickle under her skin that wouldn’t leave. 

She didn't want to be here. It wasn't because she was not sad or mourned those that were killed, it was because she had been the one to find most of the victims. She has already been on police reports for two of them, but others she has found on her own, often before the first-responders came. She would quickly get out of there and call the police, altering her voice in the process and then leave it at that. It was the guilt that ate away at her. Here she was, a Banshee, and she was not even good at it, not even decent. She was good at everything! Now, she was worthless.

What good is a Banshee after the bodies are already made. What good is having abilities if she can't prevent this from happening! _What am I doing wrong_  ,she thought in a near scream. 

No she didn't want to be here. She didn't _deserve_ to be here. She was supposed to sense death and yet she can't prevent it. She can't alter the course of it. Lydia could feel the tears burn behind her eyes as she looked at the memorial table, set with candles, flowers, and pictures of the deceased. A picture of Deputy Graeme and Mr. Westover recently added to the table earlier this afternoon. All of this both made her feel guilty and pissed. Frustrated she had to get out of there before she broke down or before she threw something. Walking out into the empty hall, she needed a breather, away from people, away from any prying eyes or unwanted smells of burning candles and flowers.

Trying to take deep breaths to settle herself down, calm her mind, she leaned against the closest set of lockers, feeling the coolness soak into her skin. Slowly she started to feel better, swallowing around the dryness in her throat as she listened to the soft scramble of sound through the double doors of the auditorium and the quiet of the hallway. In a couple she would go back in. Hold her head high and mourn with the others. She could do that for those who died. For those she couldn't help. She was about to go back inside, taking a deep breath to settle her frayed nerves and her guilt when she heard the familiar ding of her cell. Pulling it from her purse, she lit up the screen to find a message from Jackson.

He hadn't arrive yet, so she thought he was letting her know he was here, instead she got, **Need too see you right now. In history room, meeting.**

She looked up briefly to see Danny and Isaac through the window, Danny setting up his tuba with Isaac standing near Mr. Argent. Which odd? She also could see Ethan and Aidan sitting a little ways away, but both were looking around. She contemplated telling Isaac and Danny, but thought better of it, not wanting to give the twins motive to follow and hear something they shouldn't. So she put her phone away and huffed out a breath, before walking off. 

She walked confidently through the darkened halls, able to see just fine from the lights that were left on for the public to guide them to the auditorium. As she walked, the only sound she her was the clack of her heals. When she was coming up on the history room she felt a chill run up her spine. Stopping dead in her tracks, she felt her unease return, this time crawling up her entire body, tingling her scalp and hairs on her arm. It was dead silent in the hall now, dark and empty save for her. Then the soft clatter of something in front of her caught her attention. Looking down a piece of chalk was rolling towards her. The white chalk rolling until it bumped into her heeled toe.

Bending down, she gingerly picked it up. Then at once, she went cold, her fingers grasping onto the chalk firmly, her ears filling with chatter. Mindless whispers that came from everywhere and nowhere. She didn't even notice that she was walking again, stepping near the classroom she was intending for, but not aware of it. The voices molding into one another, coaxing her with each step. She entered the room, heading up to the front.

The blackboard before her, stark black in the darkened room, with smooth white lines of chalk marking out the five fold knot. The whispers getting louder and louder as she raised the chalk in her hand. Some part of her knew what she was doing, could see it all happen, but it was like she was watching it all. All she knew was that she had to do this. She had to listen. Reaching out slowly, she wrote, already knowing, sensing what was needed to be filled in. She wrote a two inside the farthest to the right circle. It was just a simple two, nothing else, nothing monumental, but it was enough. It made it real. The feeling. The urge.

Overcome with that urge, it sent a chilling wave through her and she screams or she tried until she felt something hard hit her in the head and her vision went momentary black.

when she came too she was tied to a chair, blinking away spots from her vision. Looking around she could see she was still in the chemistry classroom, only this time Someone was accompanying her.

"Lydia Lydia Lydia.”

she froze at that voice. She knew it. She knew it and yet could barely believe it. Looking to the side she saw Ms Blake sitting on the edge of the teachers desk, fiddling with a wire between her hands. 

“I have to say, you were a surprise.”

Lydia tried to move but being tied to a chair around the waist was not easy, but she didn't try to untie herself yet. If she did, she was afraid of what Ms. Blake would do. It was clear that Ms. Blake, Jennifer, was the killer. Or at least an accomplice. If she was the magic user, Lydia didn't know. Either way, she somehow led her here. Took Jackson's phone or number, whatever to get her here into this trap. And she fell for it like a dumb damsel. It almost made Lydia feel stupid for not thinking or even suspecting the new English teacher, who took over rather quickly for Mr. Harris when he was murdered. Even so, it made sense how she found out about her victims. Most of them were teachers and students. How she found about someone's virginity was one thing, but the rest could be deduced easily enough if you knew where to look. Apparently Ms. Blake was full of surprises. She learned about Mr. Harris being ex-marine, Kyle being ROTA, now she had the pickings for Philosophers, easily full filled by teachers. But, what category did Lydia fall into? She wasn't a Philosopher and as far as she knew, there was still one more body to be found to satisfy the requirement for the Five-Fold Knot Sacrifices. Lydia wasn't that, nor was she a Healer, or Guardian. Was she?

"You don’t want to do this. Please," she stammered.

"I don’t want to do this. But I have to." The woman said plainly.

"Murdering innocent people and for what," she spat out. Her head was hurting and she faintly could feel wetness on her temple.

"Come now Lydia," she cooed walking into her vision fully, still holding the wire. "Don't pretend to not know. You are smarter than that. I may not have been your teacher for long, but I know what that brain of yours is capable of. You can't hide it from me now."

"So that's it. All you want is power?" Jennifer shrugged, not denying or agreeing. "So now what? You're going to kill me too? Sacrifice me like you did all the others? 

The woman looked like she was contemplating something, her face impassive as she thought over her words, slowly moving around Lydia as she started to speak. "You know the word sacrifice comes from the Latin sacrificium, meaning to offer up for something in return. That is what all of those people were. They were offerings, all for the greater good. They were a necessity, a necessary evil for me to do what I need to. You, Lydia, you not a sacrifice. You are the extra kink, the extra thorn in my side that I don’t need. The girl who knows to much. Or the girl who _knew_ to much."

With that he wire came down and Lydia hurried to stop it from clamping around her throat, edging into the skin of her hand. Before she knew it her instinct took over, rushing out of her in a wave that had no chance of stopping. All the voice converging into one unstoppable force to be heard.

Lydia screamed. 

Screams for her dear life. Which was so very true, releasing everything that had built up. Shaking the room and rattling the windows, echoing around the room. A part of her prayed someone else heard her. Jackson, Danny, Stiles, Scott, anybody. If she had to she will scream again and again. The force of the scream drained her quickly, the air rushing out of her lungs and the whispers becoming distant again until she had nothing by a ringing in her ears and was trying to take in a deep breath, never taking her hand away from the wire even as it slackened around her.

She barely saw Ms. Blake in front of her, looking like she just found a prize. A look of awe and surprise. "It can’t be. A Wailing Woman right in front of me. A Banshee. I knew you were something but as new as you are it was hard to truly place. You are the harbinger of death, the one who hears the call on the silent winds.”

Lydia tried to think of something, anything to do, but she barely had the energy to speak. She found it hard to swallow as silent tears ran down her cheeks. What was going to happen now? Where was everyone? Even as she sees Blake pull a knife from behind the waistband of her pants, she feels frozen in her own terror.

The answering gunshot followed by a more distant snarl is what shakes her from her back to reality. She see Ms. Blake scream out in pain, clutching at her leg, before rounding on the Sheriff, who is pointing his gun at her. He shot her once, but it didn't seem to matter, because with a sneer she stood tall, glaring at him. her leg forgotten even as Lydia watched it heal quickly. It became even more clear that she was the magic user. She had power and a lot of it. The sacrifices have ensure that. 

"Ow," she said. "That wasn't very nice."

"Step away from the girl," he said authoritatively, still aiming his gun, despite seeing what she was.

She didn't answer as she took her knife and flung it in the blink of an eye, embedding it into his shoulder. It wasn't deep, but it was enough for his to drop his gun. Then she was right there, chuckling at him as she pushed him back against the wall. Lydia yelped, reaching for the knots in the duck tape around her. She couldn't watch Stiles' father get hurt. She could see as Noah's eyes went wide at her strength, wincing at the jostling of his hurt shoulder. 

"Nice try Sheriff," she says, before reaching out her hand to pull the knife away from his skin.

Surprisingly it was Scott who showed up, his growls echoing down the hall like rumbling thunder. He charged at their teacher, knocking her away, his claws and teeth out, but not connecting with her skin. In the next second, she stepped out, spinning and using his force to send him flying in the away. Crashing into the opposite wall, scattering stacked chairs and toppling the nearby desks. Lydia kept trying to break free, pulling at the tape, feeling it constrict in her hands, growing tighter, but not breaking.

"Damn pup," she heard Ms. Blake say.

"Lydia!" They all heard from the hallway.

In the split second Stiles was there, his wide eyes taking in the seen, before settling on his father. "Dad," he breathed. When his eyes moved from his father to Ms. Blake, Lydia saw the surprise and the understanding cross his face, before morphing to anger. But it didn't matter, because Jennifer spoke first.

"You," she said, before throwing her hand out, throwing Stiles off his feet by an unseen force. Lydia watched in horror as her friend flew backwards, hitting the lockers hard, denting them hard on impact. The metal slicing into his side from poking out too far at the flaps. She was helpless as Stiles slumped to the floor, shaking his head to clear his vision. In the next moment, the door closed with a bang, Lydia heard Stiles' shout of fury, before the woman moved over to the teacher's desk and with barely any effort, pushed the desk in front of the door with one hand. Lydia saw Stiles' face in the window, anger and fear in his eyes. Even as he met her gaze, he was pounding on the door, trying to push it open. She could see his eyes beginning to glow, the amber glow of his magic surfacing. The Sheriff recovered from his shock enough to pick up his gun from the floor aiming it back at Jennifer as he used the wall to hold his weight. She moved too quickly, flicking her wrist which made his gun fly from his grip to smack him hard against his head.

There is the sound of breaking glass and loud rattle that wracks through the walls. Lydia sees Stiles behind the glass of the door which is now broken and in shards on the floor. She can see his glowing eyes, his anger, as his lips form words that she cannot hear or understand. Another rattling sound circulates the room and the door creaks and groans. Stiles is trying to break down the door, using his magic to do it. Scott was moaning from the floor, blood running from his head, coming too from the loud sounds. Jennifer notices this too, which is why she grabs the Sheriff by the scruff of his neckline, ignoring the wavering of his steps, hauling him in front of the door, putting herself in Stiles' view.

"You should have not interfered."

Stiles seemed to falter for a moment, which was enough for Ms. Blake to be there and then in the next moment, move so fast that they are both a blur, the loud shattering of the window behind Lydia searing her ears. She can feel the glass raining down on her and she turns her head away. 

"Dad!”

With that, the room shook, the door splitting off it's hinges and ripping off part of the threshold and some plaster from the wall. He comes in running for the window, calling out to his father. Lydia watched as Stiles is buzzing with energy, with magic. She can see his shoulders shaking and hear his breathing become raspy. As he struggles for a breath the desks around them start to shake and then crumple. The wood turning dark and then falling away like saw dust. Scott climbs roughly to his feet, and gazes with wide eyes at the destruction and the state of his once best friend, starting to crumple at the kidnapping of his father.


	29. A Poison and a Cure

It all happened so fast. Danny was talking with Ethan, although the conversation was a bit stilted. Jackson was nearby, watching them like a hawk, probably thinking he was protecting or guarding Danny from Ethan. Danny had to roll his eyes with that. 

He didn't bring up the interaction he had with the Alpha twin earlier that day, much to his relief neither did Ethan. The boy seemed withdrawn, shy in a way. His brother was hovering by the bleachers, keeping a close eye on Stiles who was sitting patiently, talking with Isaac, Scott next to Isaac looking like a puppy looking at them converse. However, just to spite the other wolf, Stiles had waved at him with a cheeky grin, making Aidan narrow his eyes at him before looking back at Danny and Ethan for the remainder of the wait. The rest of the pack were not present, Erica and Boyd wanting to not draw attention to themselves after being 'gone' for months and wanting to keep their sightings to a minimum, and Peter, Cora, and Derek staying doing the same. Soon the recital started, Danny being left alone with the others, hefting up his tuba to start playing the somber and slightly happy song their music teacher picked out. Their music teacher sat at the piano, starting to play along with them.

It seemed to flow easily before everything turned dark quickly. The song turning harsh and haunting, Danny was looking at his sheet, trying to see what he missed, but when he looked next to him, the boy playing the clarinet was not looking at him or the sheet in front of him. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes unseeing, unfocused. His fingers working the knobs mechanically. Danny had looked around to the others to see the same thing. Everyone staring at nothing, like their were hypnotized, in a trance. Even their music teacher seemed the same, her fingers moving over the keys quickly, an intense expression on her face.

The song soured with each passing second becoming less somber and more bitter. The notes harsher, no longer being long and light but skipping to the next in hurried, sharp flicks. The crowd of people seemed to notice this, becoming uneasy. When Danny pushed his tuba away, he stood up, backing away from his fellow students. Looking up he saw Stiles watching with a worried expression, Ethan was flicking his eyes over everyone in wary fear, Jackson was getting up, looking left and right, before looking down at his phone, which lit up his concerned face. 

Stiles got down off the bleachers to come to him, watching the performances like he was seeing possession happening before his eyes. 

"What is going on," he asks.

Danny didn't have an answer. Even as the others, including Ethan and Aidan came closer, much to Jackson's and Scott's displeasure. They were growling at them, but the twins didn't notice. The people left on the bleachers were getting worried, confused, and uneasy. It didn't take long before they all heard a piercing, shattering scream. It made the wolves clutch their ears. Danny and Stiles turned in listen to the scream radiate towards. It was at such a high frequency that none of the 'humans' especially non magical ones could hear it. Stiles and Danny had heard that scream before. 

"Lydia," Danny says. 

"I'll go find her. Try and wake them all up," Stiles had said as he and Scott rushed out of the auditorium. Jackson looked like he wanted to follow, but Danny stopped him. He needed help and Stiles and Scott could handle themselves, especially Stiles.

So instead they worked to try and wake the band up. Shaking them, pinching, and poking didn't work. The audience not understanding what was going on. Some of them leaving the gym, others getting out their phones. Some even recording the entire thing. Nothing worked. Danny didn't know how long they tried. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but it felt longer. He then felt the spike of Stiles' anger, his fear, rock through his body. He felt it rattle him like it was his own emotions.

"Something's wrong." He found himself saying to no one in particular.

"No shit," Aidan snarked at him as he tried slap the face of a kid playing the violin.

"No," Danny said, stopping and looking at Jackson. They didn't have much time to say anything more before the music got louder, the students punching the notes harder. The teacher was pounding on the keys. It echoed through the gym. It sent a cold shiver down Danny’s back. 

His magic inside him felt like it was quivering, and he began to feel a feeling of foreboding in the air. The Darach was doing this. But why? He knew magic was at foot here but he didn’t know how or what the purpose was. He felt sick, felt like his stomach was somersaulting and his hairs stand on end.

In the next moment a loud snap clapped through the gym and Danny caught the end of seeing the music teacher's throat being slashed open, blood spraying and then flowing out of the wound before it even hit the piano keys and loud note of bass keys. 

The screams of panic came quickly and the music stopped as the students went from confused to horrified. Everyone else follows and people started running from the gym. Danny didn’t waste time in trying to leave. He had to get to Stiles and Lydia. The rattle of her scream still rocked his system and the deep wrongness and icky feeling of the Darach's magic still hung in the air. He could still feel the anger and terror through the link and he prayed it wasn’t something bad. 

He saw the blood pooling on the floor by the piano. Sidestepping to get around the crowd he stopped, making Jackson run into him. Staggering, he never took his eyes off what he saw. The others gathering with them. "What," Scott asked urgently.

"There," Danny said, looking at the pool. It wasn't the blood he was looking at those. It was the white liquid mixing with it, making it a little pink. The pool was spot with small bits of leaves. One had a small white berry next to it. The image itself made Danny freeze, a chill making him shudder. He couldn't look away. He knew what that was, what it can do. But he never expected this. The evidence was clear though, even as the blood seeped out of the wound on the teacher's neck, flooding the ground, the small bits of leaves and white substance flowing with it.

"What is that," Isaac asked.

Danny swallowed around his suddenly dry mouth, the nausea wanting to come back up. "Mistletoe."

He ignored the confused and worried looks on the wolves. He started running again, needing to get to Lydia and Stiles. His body was humming with emotions, both his and Stiles and he couldn't discern whose were whose. He followed the link, guiding the wolves. No one noticed or cared, they just ran.

What he came upon was the chemistry room, a mess of one. Stiles was the first thing he latched onto, the boy looking like he was in shock. Lydia tied to a chair with tape and Scott slowly getting up with blood dripping down his neck. Lydia was bleeding from a cut near her temple, but she was otherwise okay. Her eyes were on Stiles as the boy stood by a broken window, frozen. Except not completely. The room was shaking. 

Danny just noticed the door was ripped apart, half of the threshold splintered on the ground and the desks were shaking and crumbling into dust.

"What the hell,” Jackson said behind him. 

He ignored him as he went to Stiles. Danny felt the raw pain, the terror and the anger radiating from Stiles down the link. Stiles wasn't moving, his breathing was labored. When Danny approached and silently touched his shoulder, Stiles fell against him, his back to Danny's chest, his eyes unseeing and faintly glowing. The quivering desks stopped and those that managed to survive didn't deteriorate. There were even some left half way intact. The glass on the floor was everywhere, mixing with the sawdust remains of the desks around them. When Stiles fell, the link strengthened in his pain and fear and Danny had to fight to keep back cries or whimpers. He focused on Stiles, sending calmness, reassurance, and warmth back to him, hoping it would help.

"What happened," Jackson asked as he was getting Lydia untied.

"It's Ms. Blake," she stammers, rubbing her wrists as Jackson cuts the tape around her torso. "Ms. Blake is the Darach. She is the one killing people."

"Our English teacher," Aidan asks skeptically.

"It's true," Scott adds, wiping the blood away from his neck with his sleeve. "It's Jennifer Blake."

Lydia scrambled to Stiles and Danny when she was free, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, tears still in her eyes. "She took the Sheriff. She has Stiles' dad."

After that, the cold fear Danny felt was his own and not Stiles'. He worked to keep it at bay, but he didn't know how much he succeeded.

"I take it, she did this too," Jackson said as Ethan stepped over a half gone desk' legs.

Danny didn't say anything to that. He met Lydia's eyes and they both agreed in silence. Stiles' magic was the blame for this and they would let the pack be none the wiser. Ethan and Aidan were a different story, but they didn't seem to notice that it was Stiles who did the damage to the room. They probably thought it was Blake as she left, her magic lingering or something. Either way, the twins were too preoccupied observing the damage than asking questions. It didn't take long for law enforcement and paramedics to come. There were multiple calls from the auditorium and everyone was freaking out. The school was evacuated, officers looking through the halls and classrooms. Eventually Danny and the others made their way outside accompanied by another Officer Sanchez, who knew the Sheriff well and had known Stiles for a long time. 

When asked where the Sheriff was, who was stationed at the school with a few deputies in the perimeter, no one knew. The group didn't give answers because it was better they didn't. Danny was the only one who did, or rather Stiles silently asked him too. After they were outside, waiting, watching as people were grouped together, questioned, and checked over, Stiles slowly took Danny's hand. It surprised Danny and even more so when Stiles gave him something.

The boy had been so quiet and almost catatonic the whole time, staring at nothing, moving like a robot. He didn't speak to any of the officers like Danny thought he would. He didn't speak to anyone or move away from Danny's or Lydia's arms around him. He simply took Danny's hand and placed something hard and metallic in it. It was the Sheriff's badge, a little scratched up and dented, but it was there in his hand.

It was Stiles' way of saying to tell them. Tell them that his dad is missing.

That was how they all ended up in a huddle together. Danny had told Officer Sanchez and another deputy what happened. Giving a story that Stiles had found his father's star in the classroom with all the debris, tried calling him and got nothing. When Officer Sanchez went to talk to Stiles, he tried to reassure him, tried to ask more questions about if he had heard anything, seen his dad prior to the commotion, but Stiles remained like a statue. The deputy noticed that Stiles was bleeding from a cut on his back, some blood staining his shirt and that Lydia and Scott were also bleeding from their heads. Danny spun the tale that they were all hurt in after the panic where a good portion of the gymnasium ran out, stumbling and pushing their way out. The officers made sure all three of them were looked out by a medic while they went on to file a kidnapping on the Sheriff.

Danny wanted to tell them it was Blake, but he knew that would be a bad idea. Too many questions, especially ones he could not answer.

They were waiting by an ambulance, Scott arguing with the medic about blood on his neck and him saying he was fine it was just a small cut and his mom was a nurse and was coming to get him. Which was a lie, but still. Lydia and Stiles were already looked at and Danny was aching to try and get Stiles home or away from here. He still felt the emotion in the bond, but now he almost felt slightly numb. Jackson was on the phone with Peter and Isaac was texting Boyd and Erica, both telling them what happened. The twins were gone, having disappeared in the chaos.

"Stiles,” they all heard suddenly.

They turned to see a man, a very handsome one. Like damn, coming over quickly carrying a bag with tubes and instruments in it, wearing a Beacon Hill's logo on his shirt, indicating he was from the Fire Department. The man wasn’t much older than the rest of them, a couple years if that. He had brown hair, tanned skin, and startling sapphire eyes. He has cheekbones but his face had a slight roundness to it still showing a little bit of his waning youth from childhood and teen years. He strolled over to the group, eyes focused on Stiles.

Danny looked at Stiles who seemed to blink, but didn't move. Lydia was too stunned to say anything as the man came closer. When he stopped in front of Stiles, he cupped Stiles' face, earning a surprised gawk from everyone, his eyes searching.

"Stiles," he said softly. "Stiles are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Stiles seemed frozen for a few beats, his eyes almost looking past this man, before Danny saw them focus. The faint glow they had had gone a while ago, but now they seemed a deep whiskey, flecks of gold in them still lingering, his still face now morphing into recognition and dare Danny say it...warmth. “Ryan,” he said.

The man-Ryan-seemed to relax a little, before nodding, "Yeah, are you okay?"

Danny faintly saw Jackson and Isaac rejoining the party, both looking a little confused, but surprised like the rest of them. Slowly Stiles nodded and Danny could see the flicker of emotion cross Stiles' face before it disappeared. Even in the bond, Danny felt the rising panic and anger dampen, like it was being pushed away, hidden. "What are you doing here? Wait, stupid question, your an emergency call.”

Ryan seemed to take that as a sign that Stiles was okay since he chuckled before releasing Stiles' face and nodding. "I was along with another squad. I got dispatched after hearing what happened. Now are you okay?”

Stiles swallowed before nodding, "I’m fine.”

Ryan seemed to frown at that. "No you looked like you were in shock. You can-”

"I said I'm fine," Stiles said a little edge to his voice. "Really."

The older man looked like he wanted to argue, but seemed to know how to pick his battles when it came to Stiles. "Alright. I was just..."

"Worried," supplied Stiles was a small smile. Danny and the others watched, completely transfixed as Ryan wrapped his arms around their friend, giving him a hug, something that looked rather intimate and comforting at the same time. Stiles momentarily closed his eyes, returning the hug. Danny's mind was racing. Was this the guy that Stiles had been seeing? Was this the one that Stiles had been talking to for the past couple months? It was certainly a surprise, one that he didn't expect even now. He knew now wasn't a good time to bring all of this up to Stiles, but there was a part of him that felt like Stiles was hiding this.

Someone had cleared their throat, Scott is what it sounded like. This made the pair pull away. Ryan was blushing, Danny noticing how adorable it was and yeah, yeah he could see the appeal in more ways than one. Stiles had a faint pink to his cheeks, but otherwise stepped back and put his hands in his pockets.

"Stiles who is this guy," Scott asked curtly.

Stiles rolled his eyes, but it was Ryan who answered. "I'm Ryan. I'm a friend." He moved to shake Scott's hand, which the beta seemed to wrinkle his nose with at the gesture. Feeling the tension, Danny moved to take the hand.

"I'm Danny," he said. "It's nice to finally meet you," he finished with a look at Stiles, who simply avoided his gaze.

"It's nice to meet you too," Ryan said with a smile. "I wish it was under better circumstances. Anyways, I have to go. I just wanted to see if you were alright."

Stiles nodded, giving a small smile. Danny could still feel the vague emotions, but he kept that silent for now. With that, the man gave Stiles a quick one armed hug, which Stiles returned before hurrying off to where he was needed, taking his medical bag with him. The others watched him leave before turning back to Stiles, who was still watching where the man disappeared to.

"Stiles who was that," Scott asked again, his face questioning and accusing at the same time.

Stiles shrugged, "Ryan. He’s...a friend.”

"A friend huh," Lydia asked with a raised eyebrow and a knowing look.

"Who the hell is he? I've never seen him before nor have you mentioned him," Scott said with irritation at repeating himself.

"He seems nice," Danny says off-handedly, making Isaac nod and Scott scoff.

Jackson smirked, "Just wait till he spends more time with Stilinski."

Danny glared at his former best friend along with a few of the others, but Stiles didn't seem to notice or care. He simply turned around and started walking. He was heading for the parking lot. For a moment Danny contemplated punching Jackson for what he said, but it wasn't anger he felt through the link to Stiles. At least not anger towards Jackson. He felt anger, more like rage, but he still sensed the fear and shock. Along with determination.

Scott punched Jackson who growled at him, even as he rubbed his shoulder. Lydia went further to call him an idiot, earning a chastised look from the jock. Still it didn't stop Stiles as he began to get swallowed up by the shadows of the night.

"Where are you going, " Danny asked as he and the others went after him. 

"To ask an Alpha for help.”

Wow, those were words Danny never thought Stiles would say, especially so hopefully.

  *** * * * * * ***

Derek was at home, waiting on the others to get back from the recital. He thought about going but didn’t want to cause a ruckus with him being there. He still was at one point in time a suspect in a murder case, that did a lot for the public opinion on him. He didn’t need to be there. It wasn't a moment he wanted to remember, being led away in handcuffs, accused of his own sister's death. 'Thank you very much Stiles'. But he also understood the point. He understood where it came from and he didn't exactly make it easier. In the end, it was set right, it just did nothing about his tarnished image to the town's people. 

That was okay. He like his solidarity anyway. Or at least he did. Now he has a pack, or the beginnings of one. He wants to do all he can to keep it. He has a lot to make up for, a lot to take back, but he needed to think of ways to do it. That was how he was spending his night. Trying to come up with ways to get his pack to act like a pack. Peter and Cora were out at dinner, giving him the space. It both frustrated and warmed him, seeing his uncle and little sister together, being family, doing something mundane. He hadn't talked with his sister, not really, not since the day the Alpha's came and attacked, asking him to turn in Danny.

She seemed to be avoiding him, sort of. Not really leaving the room, but not staying in the room with just him in it. Derek could faintly smell her emotions when she looked at him. Bitterness, anger, hurt, and sorrow all muddled together. It made his mouth dry and his heart clench. Yet one more person in his life that hated him. She didn't even know the half it all. She didn't know the truth about what happened. The hand he had in the destruction of their lives, their family.

He needed to tell her, he just didn't know how or what to say. She already hated him. What was worse than that? Derek found he didn't want to know. So he focused on what she said to him. He focused on what _Stiles_ had said to him. He focused on his pack, on trying to build them up. It wasn't too late. He knew that much. There were small moments, small and far between where they all acted like a pack. He could see it, what they could be. Derek had to make sure those moments lasted, that they expanded. Stiles was right, it started with him and he needed to help move it along. He wanted a pack back, he desperately did. 

There was hope. Like when they all slept in Stiles' living room, even though they were distant they all stayed. When they worked together on trying to go against the Alpha's, before Derek fucked it all up. When he felt their gathered warmth around him after thinking he was dead. Granted those times were strained and kind of ruined because of petty, stupid reasons, but they were there. They made Derek see that there was a possibility.

He didn't think the pack cared for him, especially that night. It was the hug that made him doubt that initial thought. Maybe on some level they did. Or maybe it was their wolves that cared for their Alpha, not really him. Derek wasn't sure. He wasn't sure about a lot of things. He was constantly struggling, twisting in the wind and he hated it. He had no idea what he was doing. All he knew was his end goal and he craved it. He craved the closeness of pack, the feeling of family and security again. He just didn't know how to get that. Was it truly possible despite all that has happened, all that he helped to create?

 _God he was a shit Alpha_. What pained him the most was that he had no doubt the others knew it too. He thought he was doing right by them, his betas. Helping them to get stronger, giving them the strength and means they needed to survive. _What if that was never what they wanted?_

So that left him home alone, to think and consider, argue with himself, and wallow in his self-doubt and deprecation. He missed it the first couple times his phone lit up with oncoming messages. Too lost in his mind to notice. It took until after he came back from getting a swig of water from the kitchen that he took note of his phone lighting up again. Picking it up, he saw he had a few messages from Peter, Cora, and at least three from Isaac.

All of them said the same thing. The school. Something happened at the school. He caught only a couple words, not reading through the few words on his lock screen. School...dead...Darach...Stiles.

Derek immediately ran to get his jacket, shucking it on and heading towards his door, grabbing his keys. The door pushed open to reveal Jennifer on the other side, a look of desperation and fear on her face. His rush died a little at her appearance. He feared she was hurt and when she stumbled inside, he caught her, holding her up. Her eyes were wet and she was breathing quickly.

"Der-Derek," she stammered. 

"What happened," he asked, smelling the scents of the school, lavender, fear and something musky and oddly familiar.

"The school. The..the recital. It was so horrible," she said as she clutched him tight, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He allowed this to happen. After their coffee date, where he met her at the cafe, he found her rather charming. She was shy that much was obvious. Loved talking about teaching and her classes. She was a little insecure, but she was kind. She smelled like lavender and spices and had bright eyes when she smiled. When she touched him, she was warm and it sent a tingle up Derek's arm that muddled his brain. She was a nice woman, but it left him conflicted.

Aside from the fact he didn't trust her, even if she did know a little about werewolves now, thanks to him saving her life, he still expected her to run. It was a surprise when he got a call from her, asking if they could meet and talk. He wasn't ready for a relationship, but at the same time it felt good. It felt nice to be touched, talked to by someone who didn't shy away from him or look like they were disappointed in him. He found himself leaning towards her in the cafe, listening to her talk about her continuing studies in education, her dream of being a professor at a college, loving teaching students in town. It wasn't until she mentioned some bright students in her class, Lydia and Stiles that sent a chill down his spine.

Since then he felt...guilt? Like he was doing something wrong. More than once his thoughts strayed to pale skin, long elegant fingers that didn't have painted nails, and topaz eyes that seemed to flicker. His wolf was whining at him and it took near the end of their...date?...for him to notice.

When they parted, she gave him a kiss on the cheek, soft and warm, feather like, and it felt good. It felt really good. He stood still, letting it happen as he absorbed the warm of her body close to his, the feel of her near him. His thoughts drifting to the night where they almost...yeah those were fuzzy memories, but still. It was a surprise he even saw her again based on how he left it, even being that she was the one who reached out to him. he supposed he should feel guilty and a part of him did, but the other was still confused. But as the images and feelings of that night came to him in their clouded imagery, he found that he wanted to know what that was like again. It had been such a long time since he has been with anyone. Since Kate. Even though he didn't trust her, didn't trust himself, could he grow to that again? Could he take Stiles' advice and be happy?

"What happened," he asked, as he hugged her back, feeling her shaking.

"The music teacher," she gulped. "She's...she's dead...the piano. There was so much blood. I ran. I didn't know where to go. It all happened so fast, everyone was panicking."

Somehow he was rubbing his hands over her arms, trying to soothe. It had been so long since he had done this that he felt awkward. It didn't help that his wolf was growling in his head. He shook that feeling away, not wanting to listen, just like he hasn't been doing for quite a long time now.

"It's okay. You're safe here."

She turned her head then, kissing his cheek, trembling in his arms. The softness of her lips against his stubble tickled. He turned his face and suddenly found her lips on his. It didn't seem intentional to her, but she sighed into it, holding him close. He stood frozen, but found his lips moving anyway. His mind becoming hazy, his hands still on her arms, but not pushing or pulling. He felt the warmth of her body, but inside he felt cold. He felt a shiver run down his spine, which was she seemed to chase with her hands. She licked against the seam of his lips, asking for entrance, and he didn't know what to do. She didn't seem to mind though as she scratched at the base of his neck lightly. Slowly, the longer they kissed, the more clouded his mind became. All he felt were the sensations of her lips and her hands. It felt good. It felt like he had just woken up in a blissful state. It had been so long since he has allowed anyone to touch him like this and it could have been him being touch starved. He inhaled deeply as he kissed back, taking in the scent of lavender in his nostrils, mixed with that musky scent that gave a sense of dejavu.

When she pulled back, her eyes were no longer watery, but she still smelled of slight fear underneath. "Derek, you have to know. There are people coming."

"What?"

"They are going to tell you awful things. Things about me. You can’t believe them. It’s not true, I didn’t do anything.”

He was confused. He couldn't think straight. It was almost like he drank wolfsbane laced alcohol. Derek didn't know what she was saying. He felt like he was missing something. Barely he registered he was still holding his keys, which he didn't understand why. Was he going somewhere? Better question is why was she fearful? "What are you talking about?”

"Derek please believe me. Please.”

The desperation was clear in her voice and eyes. She stroked his neck, laying another hand on his chest. He felt the warmth on his skin, but it didn't do anything to his insides. Another chill went down his back. His wolf was howling. Derek didn't know what to do, all he wanted was to help if he could. He recognized the smell of fear and he wanted to change that. He always hated that smell. The bitter, sour smell.

Slowly, he nodded, which earned him another kiss from her.

"Derek get away from her!”

The shout broke them apart, his eyes straying from her face to the door, which was still open. The pack...his pack were looking at him like he had two heads. Like he was crazy. They also looked angry and wary. Jackson and Lydia were at the front with Scott, Danny and Stiles a little off to the side behind them with Isaac. The mix of emotions in the room was stifling. It confused Derek further.

"What are you doing here? Why ain’t you at the recital?”

"I texted you," Isaac said, worry marring his features as he looked from Derek to Jennifer. "I tried to tell calling you."

"Why? What happened," he asked, feeling Jennifer stiffen beside him.

"Ask her," Lydia said with so much venom in her voice it surprised Derek. He saw she had wiped tried blood on her temple, but he didn't understand why. What was he missing?

He shook his head, "I don't-"

"Our music teacher got her neck sliced open by piano wire after the band got hexed," Lydia stated harshly.

"Another sacrifice," Danny said his own face hard and cold.

Derek shook his head. Jennifer was squeezing his arm. "Stiles dad is now missing," Scott said, his eyes flashing.

That got another shiver to pass of Derek. He looked at Scott then at Stiles. Thinking he heard wrong. That couldn't be right. The other boy he couldn't see. Scott and Danny were partially hiding him and Derek didn't move to get a confirmation. "What? What are you talking about?" He was so confused. Was this where he was going? Was this why he had his keys, to help at the school? How could he forget that? How did he miss Isaac's messages. "How," he asked, not sure of which of his questions he was actually asking.

"Like I said," Lydia spat, still looking at Jennifer, "ask her."

Derek turned to the woman beside him who was shaking her head. "Derek don’t listen to them.”

"She is the magic user. The Darach," Danny said, quickly. The very name made Derek's skin crawl.

"She has been killing people. She took Stiles dad, we watched it happen," Scott growled.

This couldn't be right. It wasn't. She was here, wasn't she? God his brain felt like it was broken. He felt like he was missing bits in time. Even as he saw the teens before him stand firmly, glaring daggers and murderously at the woman beside him, his felt lost. His wolf was howling and pawing at him. Jennifer squeezed his arm, almost painfully. The Sheriff, Stiles' dad was missing. Abducted, that wasn't true. It couldn't be. The boy would be distraught, he would be panicking. Where was the Sheriff now if Jennifer was here? Why wasn't Stiles shouting, crying, or something!

Derek didn’t know what to do or what to say. He could see the brightness of Jennifer’s eyes as she looked at him, silently asking him to believe her. Asking him to deny the accusations. He wanted to, despite the growls and whines from his wolf, he wanted to help her. He didn’t believe the woman he went out for coffee with, the shy, kind, somewhat awkward and flailing woman was anything like the monster described. 

He heard a slight uptick in breathing and he turned his gaze to the teens. More precisely to the teen his eyes gravitated to. Stiles. He could see him clearly now, Danny having stepped a little to the side.

The boy looked like he was...breaking? There was no other word to describe it. His eyes were a blend of topaz and whiskey, his hands tightly clenched like his jaw. His hair mussed like he had been running his hands through it over and over again. His cheeks pink and his scent a mix of so many emotions it made Derek take a breathe through his mouth. When their eyes met, Derek felt like he was kicked in the balls. The _rawness._ He could see the pain, anger, desperation, mirrored in the boy's eyes, slowly making there way into the tears pooling there.

And that was all it took. Derek felt frozen in a space of limbo as he watched the tears slide down Stiles' cheek. His breath caught in his throat and his chest tightened. Derek found he couldn’t do anything else and his wolf agreed, whining at the image before them.

His mind seemed to clear, not completely but enough. He had the sudden urge to go to Stiles. He watched as Stiles' bright eyes were glistening, silently asking, begging and Derek found he wanted to respond. It brought him back to that night. The night he made a stupid decision, a stupid choice out of fear and anger. One he couldn't take back. He saw Stiles, bruised and hurt, asking him to believe him. Asking him to listen to his heart, to hear him.

_'You can tell if I'm lying, always you can tell.'_

He didn't listen that night. He chose to ignore his gut, his wolf, his instincts. He turned off his senses and let his anger and betrayal fuel his fire rather than work to dampen it. He couldn't take that back, rewrite it. He couldn't erase the night Stiles was kidnapped and hurt while Derek didn't know. He couldn't erase that he hurt Stiles too.

So he listened to his heart now. He listened to the boy's fast beating heart. His heavy, but controlled breathing as he worked to keep it together. The tempo of them both were like drums in his ears, pounding away at his gut, making Derek feel breathless. The Alpha could smell the emotions radiating from the boy and he focused on the sadness, the fear. It distorted and masked Stiles' scent. The unique scent that Derek knew, the one he wanted to smell, the one that he remembered even as his mind became clearer and clearer.

"Do you know where Stiles’ father is," he asked Jennifer then.

She looked taken aback. "What? No. Why would-"

"She’s lying.” Lydia nearly shouted.

Jennifer's eyes widened at the girl before turning defiant. "No I’m not. I don’t know where he is." She turned back to Derek, stepping closer to him, her body heat touching him. "I promise you I don’t know where he is. You have to believe me. It’s me. You can’t believe them."

Derek listened to her heart the whole time. It was steady and didn't skip, but her breathing shifted. It wasn't smooth, but a little more labored. He wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't sure if she was lying. He wasn't sure about her.

"Then maybe we should shed some light on it," he heard.

They all looked to see Danny holding his hand in a fist. He said stepping closer to the pair. Derek was confused and cautious as he saw Danny’s eyes look upon Jennifer with anger. Jennifer looked like she wanted to refute, about ready to say something more as she shook her head. 

“Baby-" she began turning to Derek only for Danny to move quickly.

He opened his hand and Derek saw some fine, white-gray dust in his hand. He blew and it flew out in a fine powder that Derek nearly choked on, stepping away from it. Closing his eyes as he felt Jennifer release his arm. It wasn’t meant for him anyway, as most of the powder showered over Jennifer. Blinking his eyes quickly to clear any lingering dust he saw Danny step back quickly, everyone's eyes on the woman. In an instant he saw her features become twisted and the ugly, distorting like a mirage, becoming a creature he hadn't seen before. Like what Stiles described to Peter.

Pale skin, scarred and torn apart. Bald and white eyes. A permanent snarl on the ugly face. It was true. Derek stepped back further. It was true. Jennifer looked stunned and angry at the same time. 

“Mistletoe. Both a poison and a cure," Danny said snidely.

As quick as it came, the marred image of her disappeared and she became the beautiful woman again. It was a trick. It wasn't real. Derek found his skin crawling again, his insides clenching and his gut twisting into disgust. Jennifer didn't seem bothered by any of this. She didn't seem to notice that Derek wasn't next to her anymore. Instead she turned to Danny, a smirk on her face.

"Clever witch," she said, no longer shy or pleading.

Derek's beta's and Scott growled, their eyes flashing at the threat. Jackson put himself in front of Lydia as Isaac and Scott positioned themselves in front of Stiles and Danny. With no warning she waved her hand sending the teens flying backwards into the opposite wall feet away. Derek saw as Stiles and Danny hit the far wall hard, the wolves landing into them, heard the stunned 'oof' rush out of Stiles' lungs. His eyes bled, his claws lengthening as his wolf roared inside him. He echoed it's voice snarling as he moved fast and wrapped his hand around her throat. Her eyes widened at him and she tried to break free. His own rage, his disgust at himself, at her, his own stupidity, egging him on. Her soft features morphing into those of harsh brutality, coldness, and murderously glee. He saw her trying to hurt his pack. He felt her touch on his skin, her words in his ears, her lips on his.  _He saw her as Kate_. No, he couldn't let this happen. Not again. Never again!

He lifted her up off her feet, squeezing tighter. Only for her eyes to glow pearl white and she reached up to grip his arm, squeezed his wrist sharply. The loud crack echoing in the room, even to him. The following heated pain radiating up his arm as she broke his wrist, making him let go. Somehow his legs gave out and he was kneeling down before her, looking up at her as she stood with a smirk on her face. He growled and snapped his fangs at her.

"Good boy," she said as she raised her hand to pet him. He couldn't move. He couldn't get away from her touch. His arms were stuck and his legs felt like lead weights. He snarled and roared at her, but he could do anything else.

And then she was gone, thrown from him, her body looking like a rag doll as she flew across the room opposite him, her back hitting the stone pillar. She was kept there as he heard the breath forced out of her. Her head hitting the rough material, making her cry out. Her eyes wide but more from the shock of the ‘surprise attack’ rather than any pain she might have felt. 

Derek looked over not knowing what was going on. His body slumped to the ground, feeling like the invisible wall was gone and he could move again. His red eyes searched, looking over to his pack who were up and pissed. He also saw Stiles. Scott, Danny, Lydia and even Isaac and Jackson stood a little off to the side, watching with round eyes as Stiles held out an open hand towards Jennifer. His eyes blazing amber, enlightened with the fire that Derek had only seen a few times but never of this magnitude. It was both breathtaking and terrifying. 

He could hear the boy's heart racing, his breathing calm but coming from between clenched teeth. His body was still and yet it thrummed with an energy that Derek had never felt from him. Like electricity and heat around him, fuming in the air. Derek could smell something sharp like fresh crispness and something burning, strangely like before lightning storm, all radiating around Stiles. He looked between the woman and the boy, both looking at the other in a contest of glares that he couldn’t hope to put words to.

Derek couldn't look away, his mind racing to catch up to what he was seeing, looking to from Stiles' open hand to Jennifer, then back to the hand, up to his glowing eyes, Derek finally glanced at Danny who was watching with both awe and resignation. His body rigid and poised as if to help but otherwise held back. Derek had not seen much more than a few creatures in his life. Claws and glowing eyes, teeth and fur or hair. But this was different. This was otherworldly. This was something he couldn't understand from his animal instincts. His wolf could sense it though, could sense energy, power. It was similar to sensing another Alpha. It was similar to sensing something else that was a threat. It made his hairs stand up and his senses sharpen and thrum. It also had an undercurrent to...Deaton. The vet. The Druid. His mother's once emissary. The scene before him was startling and he felt his breathing catch, but he knew...he just knew. It finally clicked for Derek.

Magic. Stiles had magic.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late. I actually split this chapter in two so it wasn't so much at once. This chapter I had written second after the next one coming up, but these are some of my favorite chapters so far. I hope you like them. Thank you to all and much love! The next chapter will be up in a few days after I'm done tweaking it a little. Stay tuned


	30. The Condemner

It all made sense now. Danny wasn’t the witch. Despite the seemingly clever story and the calm emotions, the steady heartbeats, it was clear now. Derek knew something was off, even if he didn't give it much thought. Stiles had changed in a way that Derek couldn’t put a finger on. It wasn't just the physical stuff -yes he had noticed that too, the growing muscles, the way he held himself in a straighter, guarded way- it wasn't even emotional either. He knew a bit about the emotional differences, the stand off silence that always seemed to bare down on him when Stiles would stare at him. Before it was defiance and nerves, uncertainty, but still rebellious, now it was all rebellion, fueled by a rush of other things that Derek could guess at due to the months Derek hadn't seen Stiles. He had no idea about what Stiles had been doing, what he did with his time with Danny or Lydia or even alone. He didn't have the right to know and now, he had a damn good idea.

Stiles had magic. Stiles was the witch!

And he was standing here, in Derek's loft, using it, his expressive, hypnotic eyes glowing with it, full-blown, not just dancing and teasing beneath the surface. It was there for everyone to see and it silenced them as Stiles stepped closer to Jennifer. He was glaring at her with a dark expression that sent a chill down Derek's spine. He never saw a look on Stiles before and the energy he could feel in the air made it more real.

Jennifer simply chuckled at him, her eyes filled with mischievousness.

"Well slap my ass and call me Sally," she said in a false southern accent, giggling at herself. "Ain't you full of surprises.”

Derek thought that Jennifer was as surprised by Stiles having magic as the rest of them. The only ones who weren't surprised were Danny and Lydia. Both of them were calm, waiting in anticipation. Danny's hand was flexing and Lydia looked angry. Everyone else was stunned, waiting with bated breath.

"Because your are so surprised right," he said sarcastically, still holding his hand up. Derek saw Blake smirk. Wait, was she surprised? She didn't smell surprised or even scared. "Where is my dad?”

"I'd rather not say.”

Stiles seemed to grit his teeth, his eyes burning a little brighter. Derek became aware that his lights started to flash and his furniture was shaking, thumping against the ground in ticks and tacks. The pack was watching with fascination, no one moving. Slowly Stiles stepped up to about a foot from her. She wasn't touching the floor, her feet just a foot off the ground, but she didn't look worried. She looked amused and slightly bored like she was entertaining a child. When she smiled at him, a few lights flickered and shattered, snapping everyone out a trance and making them take in a breath. 

"Someone is letting their emotions show," she said teasingly.

“Cut the shit and tell me where he is," he spat.

She seemed to size him up a bit, her eyes looking him over with a curiosity that Derek didn't like. He growled at her, unable to stop himself which made her look towards him. Her stare making his invisible hackles rise. He can't believe he had found her eyes bright and shy, full of love as she spoke about teaching and her life. Now, they held nothing, but mirth, arrogance, and twisted glee. He remembered looking at those eyes as he hovered above, feeling hand on his body. Lips on his. He felt like he was going to be sick. God what had he done!

She turned her vexatious gaze back to Stiles, now calculating. "What are you?”

Stiles seemed to tense at that question, his posture straightening, something no one failed to miss. "None of your business.”

Jennifer didn't seem to notice his answer. “You're new to magic, strong only...I can’t quite sense how much." Her face twisted into amusement again. "Interesting. How long have you been cloaking your magic?”

Stiles seemed surprised by that. He faltered for a moment, her body sliding down an inch before he held on again, glaring back at her. "Long enough to have picked up on a few things.”

She chuckled. “Hmm, quite so. You are rather interesting. I'm surprised I never noticed at the school. You caught me by surprise yesterday in the woods.”

Derek stiffened at that. The woods. Yeah, he heard about that from Peter. Apparently Peter had said that Stiles had come across the Darach in it's real form in the woods. Peter didn't say how or why Stiles was out there. He also didn't allude to how Stiles got away without being harmed or killed, of course now Derek knew. But looking at Stiles now, he didn't seem harmed accept for the little amount of blood he smelled on him. Stiles was hurt, but Derek couldn't tell where or how bad. Derek was starting to get tired of hearing about Stiles in the woods alone and even when there was clear danger in town. He didn't care if Stiles had magic, the boy was a trouble magnet.

“You mean after you murdered someone else?" Stiles asked her coldly. "Who was it? Mr. Westover?"

“I’m afraid wolf has got my tongue on my secrets,” she sneers. Then she looks over to meet Derek’s eyes again and her sneer grows wider. “A certain broody and handsome one would know the feeling.”

Derek growled at her, feeling the heat behind his eyes as they changed to bright red. He felt the nausea come back up at what happened, what he was doing prior to the pack being here. What he almost did a few days ago. He couldn't get it out of his head that he allowed her to touch him. He kissed her, he knew he did. He still felt her lingering touch and taste in his mouth. While before it made him feel shiver and fuzzy, now it made him sick and guilty. He was ashamed of himself. She was a monster, in more ways than the appearance that she hid away. He could feel his wolf both snarling inside him, wanting to both comfort him and defend him.

Stiles stepped to the side, blocking her vision from Derek, acting like he was a wall. A shield protecting him.

"Where. Is. My. Father.” He asked again, his voice cold and angry. The seconds ticking made Derek more aware of how the room was changing. It was getting more static charged in the room, the smell of crisp air and burning filled his nostrils. Derek could see Stiles was struggling to keep from shaking, his other hand at his side was twitching, his fingers itching about. If Derek looked close enough, he realized the hand was glowing, almost turning red and orange.

Jennifer looked back at him with a bored expression. "How about you and I make a deal?"

"No."

She tisked at him. "Aw come now don't be that way young Spark."

"Spark?" Scott said from near the door, causing them all to look at him. Derek nearly forgot about the rest of the pack. His eyes had been trained on Stiles and Blake the whole time. He was still mind boggled by Stiles being the witch, having magic, and here he was with a dangerous Darach up against the wall, while Derek and the pack watched, stock still and stupidly stunned at what they were seeing. This was a different Stiles than Derek first met. A different Stiles than who he remembered from the beginning of summer. It was the same boy, but a different side of the boy that he had never gotten to see. Hell Stiles himself may not know what he looks like right now.

Jennifer, however, didn't seem deterred in her actions as she smiled serenely over at Scott, making his mouth close quickly. "A magic user dear," she cooed. "Did you not know?" When no one said anything, when Scott's mouth went into a thin line, Jennifer chuckled. "Interesting. You are friends with this pack, but you do not trust them," she says to Stiles, who went rigid, his 'glowing' hand tightening into a fist.

Derek could smell Stiles' anger and it was building. The longer this took, the more his loft was being affected. It was clear it was from Stiles. He wasn't sure why, but maybe it was a side effect of Stiles' magic. Maybe he didn't have full control. Maybe he wasn't aware he was doing it. It didn't matter as her words sunk in. Stiles didn't trust them, the pack. Derek supposed he couldn't be upset about that. Did he have any right to be upset?

Was it not he who pushed Stiles away? Was it not he who told Stiles he didn't trust him? 

Of course Stiles wouldn't trust them. He wouldn't trust Derek because of what he did. Derek had messed up, _keeps_ messing up if tonight was any indication. His pack was in tatters and barely more than a group of teen wolves and a banshee. There was hardly any closeness, any trust, camaraderie, acceptance or openness that should be there. Even if he never said that stuff to Stiles, even if that never happened, what was he able to give Stiles in return? What pack was there when they were all like this?

"How about a deal," she said again.

Stiles raised his hand higher, making her head get pushed back against the solid stone of the pillar. Her smile went tight at the movement, but she didn't grimace or whimper. "You are not in a position to make negotiations," he said between his teeth.

"Aren't I?" She asked then, her eyes going a slightly darker, even to Derek. Mixing with the smell of burning air, a smell of old and decay came with it. It nearly made Derek gag, but Jackson wasn't so lucky as Derek heard his breathing hitch and noticed him taking breaths from his mouth. Blake didn't notice as her cold gaze met Stiles'. It unnerved Derek at the confidence she has had this whole time, the condescension and the ease of her words. Stiles had magic, but then, he hadn't seen her really use any herself. He didn't know much about magic, but did she need her arms to use it?

"Pity really. Such potential you have," She says quietly with an edge of awe. "Well I hate to say it little Spark, but time is wasting and I've got things to do. Stuff to accomplish, people to see.” She looked down at Stiles, her eyes focusing on his side. "You might want to get that cut looked at. Everyone needs a healer.”

With that her eyes went stark white and a blast of unseen force sent them all backwards, before any of them could lift a finger. Derek briefly saw Stiles falling to the ground before he himself was momentarily stunned and his vision shifted to black for a few seconds. The sound of a whooshing noise echoing in the loft right as Derek was able to recover from the impact. When he rolled over, pushing himself up, he saw everyone look up only to find nothing. There was nothing there anymore. No Jennifer. And Stiles standing up again, practically growling at the sight, sounding more like a wolf than Derek ever heard from him before. 

When the room went silent again, everyone stared at where Blake was once standing. One moment she was there, the next she was gone. No one knew what to say or what to do. That was more magic than any of them had dealt with before. Even Danny seemed lost of what to do. Derek noticed him holding his forearm, rubbing his fingers into him beneath the sleeve of his shirt like he was massaging the muscle. He could have hurt himself earlier or something. However the boy was looking at Stiles, a worried look on his face. Before Derek could say anything, someone else beat him to it.

“What the fuck!?”

That would be Scott. The boy was practically vibrating out of his skin. His eyes bugged out and his head going back and forth between where Jennifer was and Stiles. Derek had to hold in the grown about where he knew this was heading.

"You...y-you can...do magic," Scott said, looking at his best friend.

Stiles didn't answer, he was running his hands through his hair. He smelled of anger and fear. It was stinking up the loft quickly with it's acrid scent. Stiles looked like he was shaking. The flickering was getting more constant. The furniture shaking like a small earthquake was happening right under the building. He could hear Stiles' breathing accelerating, coming out in short quick breaths, his heart going double time. It sounded like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

"Stiles," Scott asked, sensing the same thing. Derek was told before that Stiles was prone to attacks, having had them after his mother died. Some of them were often at first, but Scott said that Stiles hadn't had one in years. The boy looked like he was falling apart and the harder Stiles' breathing became the more Derek's place started to shake, the lights going from flashing to breaking, the furniture shaking and falling over, the paint on the walls peeling, the grinding and moaning of the pipes overhead shifting. His hands looked brighter, red and orange like they were freshly sunburnt and had a faint glow.

Derek tried to move to Stiles as the boy looked like he was about to close in on himself, Scott doing the same when Danny moved, rushing to Stiles to stand in front of him, grasping his forearms. He gently pulled them away from the boy's head, calling out to him. Derek and Scott watched as Danny quietly spoke to him, telling him to breathe, take deep breaths, to match his breathing with Danny's. Danny brought Stiles' hand to his chest and Danny placed his own hand on Stiles' right over his heart, whispering for him to copy. Slowly, Stiles was starting to breathe again. Derek glanced over at Scott, mostly to ask if this would really help, but Scott looked torn. He looked like he had been slapped in the face, not able to look away. Even Jackson looked on with a curious wonder and a glint of pain in his eyes.

Derek was starting to realize how close Stiles and Danny were. Apparently the summer had changed in more ways than Stiles having magic or how angry he was at Scott or Derek. He didn't know the story about Jackson or Danny, but it was obvious that it had driven a wedge between them. All he knew was that Danny was Jackson's best friend, or might have been. Was he still?

Eventually Stiles started to breathe normally, his heart slowing down to a more normal pace although it was still a little fast. He looked pale and still crossing between fury and terror. Danny still whispering reassurances that Derek didn't feel right listening to. He didn't have a right to listen. Derek had been here kissing and touching the woman who was killing and taking people, the Sheriff now too, instead of helping, looking for clues or ways to safeguard his pack and the people from either the Alpha's or Jennifer. Of course he had no right to listen or even reassure Stiles in any way. He practically ignored all of this.

He felt dirty. He felt disgusting and unreal. How could Derek not see Jennifer for what she was? Yet again another beautiful face had come in and somehow gotten him to think about something else. Something he wanted. Yet again he was fooled by the snake underneath. It sickened him.

"Why do you have magic?” Jackson asked, clearly moving past the little break down that Stiles was having.

"That is so cool bro?! Wait you didn’t you tell me," Scott asked sound both excited and hurt at the same time.

Stiles didn't answer, but Derek saw him tense against. Danny glared at Scott, who was clueless to it. Lydia walked up to Stiles and Danny, gently rubbing a hand down his arm in comfort. It was she who answered.

"Does that matter right now?"

"What," Scott asked innocently, his face breaking out into a grin. "I didn't know my best friend had magic. Do you know how awesome that is? Do you know what all we could do with that? It could be like Harry Potter or something. It would be badass. We could use his magic to help us, to end all of this. Could get out of class easily. Get passing grades. Ms. Blake teleported. She teleported! Can you do that, like we could go to France or Rome. We could-"

"Stop!" Danny shouted at him, causing them all to flinch at the sudden yell. Derek saw Stiles tense and avoid looking at anyone, his jaw clenching and unclenching, his heart still fast. "Magic is not a game. It is not for petty, bullshit excuses to make life easy, it is not for cheap tricks and certainly not to be used for adolescent humor."

Scott looked taken aback, obviously not knowing what he said wrong. "But I-"

"It was a choice that I made," Stiles said, cutting Scott off. "With good reasons."

"Such as," Isaac asked curiously.

"The fact that it was no one else's business," he said with look that warranted no further comment on it.

It didn't deter Scott from pouting about it. "Stiles pack don’t keep secrets."

Stiles scoffed and Derek ignored the urge to tell Scott about how he himself not wanting to be part of his pack. Scott had been fighting that for a long while now, was he starting to change his mind? Or was he confusing his ignorance with pack? Jackson arched an eyebrow at Derek, as if asking him to push Stiles further. Derek was curious. He too wanted to know when Stiles got his magic or if he always had it. He wanted to know why no one knew until now. Yet the reminder that he didn't have the right to know came back to the forefront of his brain.

Derek had so many questions. So many things to ask. So many things to apologize for. If he could bring himself to get the courage to do so.

Lydia put her hand on Sties' back comfortingly and he stiffened, hissing out a breath. She took her hand awake almost instantly like they both had been electrocuted.

"You okay? What is it?"

He waved her off. "Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just got a cut on my back from the lockers at the school."

Lydia arched an eyebrow. "The lockers?" Derek watched at her eyes widened a second before she nodded. "Oh yeah."

Derek had no clue what that meant. But it made sense where the scent of blood was coming from. It wasn’t much but it did draw some concern. Especially if it was from Blake then how bad was the cut? The others didn't seem to know either. The faint smell of blood was now noticeable to them all, but seeing as how Scott and Lydia still had dried blood on their skin, it could have been from them. Derek minutely relaxed that it didn't seem that Stiles was hurt bad. Although the grimace he made was not the best thing to go on. Humans felt pain a little different than wolves.

“Do you want me to look at it," Lydia asked softly.

"No I’m fine," he denied, rolling his shoulder tightly.

"I can call my mom," Scott offered a little hesitantly, as if Danny would bite his head off again.

Stiles scoffed again, but there was the hint of a small smile on his face. "No offense Scott. But as awesome as your mom is and a hell of a nurse she continues to be, I don’t need her to come out here and slap a bandage on me. I don’t need a healer. I can handle it with my mag-“

He stopped. He stopped and just stared for a moment before his eyes went wide. His heart going higher in rhythm and his scent changing funnily. Stiles was still and Derek could practically see the wheels turning in the boy's head, running a mile a minute. As always thinking of something that sparked his attention.

Danny nudged him with his arm. "What?"

"A healer." Stiles whispered. "Healers. 'Everyone needs a healer.'"

Lydia was looking both concerned and confused, when Stiles met her gaze. It was like a click between them as she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh God."

"What," Derek growled. He was getting anxious and he could smell everyone else becoming the same.

"Healers," Lydia said. "Healers were one of the groups in the Five Fold Sacrifices. Healers are ones the Dar-I mean Blake, hasn't gotten to yet."

Jackson shrugged, clearly looking bored, partially listening. "And?"

"And what makes up Healers," Lydia asked him like he was small child.

"Doctor's, vets, nurses."

Lydia was nodding even before Isaac finished, Stiles was growing pale, even Danny was.

"Mom!"

Scott said as he quickly turned to leave, running out the door quickly. The rest of them were following behind him on his heels. Derek could feel the tension among them all at this revelation. Whether Blake meant to or not, she gave them her next plan. Which meant that they were running out of time. For all they knew they could be too late. Of course Melissa McCall may not be a target, but they couldn't risk that, and Derek knew that Scott most certainly wouldn't stand by and wait.

"Call the others," he heard Stiles say in front of him as they all descended the stairs. "Have them meet us at the hospital and fast."

Derek knew the boy was still worried and scarred about his dad, but he was helping. Maybe they could stop more deaths.

 

*** * * * * * ***

Eventually they made it to the hospital. Stiles tried to head straight in to find Melissa and ready to tear Jennifer apart. He wasn't going to let Melissa get taken by her too. He was going to get hold of that woman and force her to spill where his dad was. He didn't care how, he was going to find a way. He couldn't lose his father. He already lost his mother, he wouldn't lose his dad or Melissa.

The rest of the pack met them at the door, no need to ask question as Lydia had filled in Peter and Cora, and Isaac filled in Boyd and Erica. They didn't explain much about what happened at the loft and for that Stiles was glad. At least for now. He was ready to burst out of his skin. He was worried, terrified about his dad. He wanted to find him and make sure he was safe. He wanted to find Blake and make her talk. He cursed himself for letting her slip from his fingers at the loft, now she was here somewhere, probably hurting someone, and he needed to stop that. 

He had magic and he will damn well use it. Screw hiding it from the pack anymore. They knew now and he was going to fight to get his dad back.

So imagine their surprise when they came in and saw the two faces of both Ennis and Kali. The Alpha's were behind the counter. Kali flipping through papers on a clipboard looking bored and Ennis doing no better with what was on the computer while he was pretending to listen to another nurse try and talk to him. Cora and Isaac had been the ones to see them first both of them turning around quickly to push everyone through the stairwell door to the right of the entrance. The pack were confused before some of them caught glances, everyone keeping their mouths shut -thank whatever deity for that- and going downstairs. Scott led them all to morgue floor, being as it was the quietest and often empty at this time of night. At least they hoped it was. After the death of their music teacher, they didn't know which hospital the body would be brought to.

Scott took them all past a few exam rooms before they turned to the left to another room that was similar to the other with, steel slab tables and a desk in the corner with a computer on it. The right wall had an x-ray light on with a row of cabinets lining the floor. was gather i one of the operating rooms opposite the morgue. Everyone looking paler than usual. Stiles was raging. 

Great now the Alpha's are here. Stiles was smart enough to know that they didn't just show up here, willy nilly putting scrubs on and joining the hospital staff without anyone noticing. They had been here for a while. They were working here and it worried Stiles. Were they watching the people who came in. Were they watching Melissa? She was the only one who knew about the pack who worked here. Or was this just a cover? Either way he didn't care, they needed to find Melissa and get her out, then he needed to find his dad.

"We need to get to Melissa."

"I can call her and tell her to meet us down here," Scott said.

"Call her cell that is in her locker where she always puts it, or the front desk where either Kali or Ennis can pick up the phone," Stiles challenges.

Lydia shook her head. "No, we can't have her meet us down here that way. Which means we need to go get her."

"Not all at once you mean," Peter said.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Ya think."

"I'll go," Scott said immediately heading towards the door.

Peter stopped him, standing in front of him. "And how are you going to get unnoticed by the Alpha's currently residing in the hallway you will need to go through?"

"I can sneak past," he said trying to shove past Peter, who merely grabbed the scruff of his shirt and pulled him pack.

"Not past Alphas."

Scott growled. "Let me go. She is my mom."

"We are aware Scott, which is why we are here, but we need to be smart about this."

Derek stepped forward. "I will go."

"You are the Alpha and what will stop them from attacking you then and there," Cora asked behind her brother.

Derek shook his head. "I can handle myself out."

"Meaning you want to be the martyr," Cora insinuated for him.

"Or doesn't trust us," Stiles said under his breath without thinking. Derek and Cora looked over at him quickly, both with different looks. Cora with confusion, Derek with something akin to...hurt or shame?

"I can go," Danny said quickly. Everyone turned to him. "I am the only one that the Alpha's have not seen before. I am not a wolf and I can blend in. I can find Melissa and bring her down here. The cover would be that she is showing me around because I am going to be a new...volunteer or something."

Stiles had to admit that sounded rational. He looked at Scott and the boy looked like he wanted to argue, wanted to say no that it was his mom and that he had to protect her. Wanted to say that he was a werewolf and could better fight if needed. All the same stuff Stiles has heard before.

"Scott it is the best plan. We can't charge in and cause more harm," Lydia said, trying to be reassuring.

Scott slumped after a moment. "Fine, but hurry. If you get into trouble then call."

Danny nodded. With a quick flick of his eyes to Stiles, he left. Stiles knew what he was saying. Stiles would monitor if he needed help. Their link was helpful for stuff like this. Right now his emotions were similar to Stiles'. Nervous, scarred, but he was determined. He was doing this so that they could get out of here without harm. Stiles prayed the Alpha' don't cause any problems. He also prayed harder that Blake didn't have Melissa and that Danny wouldn't be too late.

It didn't take long for them all to get a little restless. They had broken apart to sit on the floor or the counters. Waiting as silently as possible. No one spoke and no one really felt like it. They waited for five minutes, then ten. People got on their phones, Scott resorted to biting his nails, Lydia went to filing hers. Peter looked bored, while everyone else were in various stages of boredom and anxiousness. The minutes clicked by on the clock overhead, the sound of the second hand sounding loud to Stiles. He was pacing back and forth. His magic was curling around inside his chest, warming and pulsing. Itching to be used, to be helpful. He knew the feeling. He hated waiting. He monitored Danny the whole time, keeping tabs on his emotions. A few times he felt the small flicker of anxiousness, but it went away quickly. Other than that he was rather calm and Stiles was slightly comforted by that. As the minutes ticked by, Stiles' thoughts drifted to his dad. It has been a few hours now and still nothing. Stiles has not heard about what the department has been doing about his dad's, their Sheriff's kidnapping, but he knew that if they had anything, they would tell him.

They had nothing. Just like them. He had Blake, he had her and she got away. In the blink of an eye she got away. He didn't even know that teleporting was a thing outside of fiction. But then werewolves and witches. _Duh._  He was as stunned as the pack, but he was also pissed. She was powerful, more so than him. He knew it. She knew it and she was playing with him. He wasn't sure he was a mage. So his eyes glowed and he had funny dreams and was quick to pick up spells and things. That meant nothing if he couldn't help the people he cared about when it counted. More and more he was picturing his dad, chained up, bleeding. Then with a cut across his neck. Dead and pale, motionless, as he was here trying to get Melissa. He needed to go out an find him. He needed to do something.

"Will you stop pacing?"

The sound of Jackson's voice shook him from his mind, thankfully, but it didn't stop his worrying. "I can't. The Alpha pack is here along with a Darach hellbent on doing something evil and people are dying. My dad included. I'm a little on edge."

"You don’t know that," Isaac said gently.

"Do you," he asked him. "Do any of us? And we are standing here doing nothing."

"Stiles shut up. You are not helping."

Stiles heard Derek say this, his anger spiking. It didn't matter that they were trying to be quiet or that they were looking for Melissa. Stiles didn't care that Derek's tone was placating, trying to calm his already frayed nerves. He didn't notice any of this.

"Oh me? Your telling me to shut up? What are you trying to give me orders now, Hale?"

He saw Derek bristle at his surname, but he said as calmly as possible, "We need to focus. We need to come up with a way to get her and keep her."

Stiles scoffed. "Oh that is rich coming from you," he said harshly, not registering the minor flinch Derek made or the gasps of the pack around him. His emotions now making his brain to mouth filter less active. "We wouldn't even be in this mess if it wasn't for you."

Derek growled, his inner Alpha not liking the challenge Stiles was posing, nor liking the implications. The rest of the pack watching the two with stunned silence. "Yes, because I was the one who asked her to murder people for power and go after Scott's mom and your father while she was at it."

Stiles winced at the mention of his father. He needed to find him, like hours ago. Mrs. McCall was here and was supposed to be coming down so they could get her out, but the more they waited, the more Stiles couldn't help think they were too late. He couldn't handle that. He couldn't handle any one else he cared about dying. He had all this magic, the knowledge he learned and yet he felt like he was spiraling. His magic was burning inside him, the flicker of the lights above them and the whirring of the computer in the corner were from him trying to maintain control of his emotions. Some of the pack noticed this with confusion.

"You miss my point," he said rather quietly, his voice hard even to his own ears, his mind racing, his tongue loose. It was like he was drunk, everything starting to pour out. His fear being the alcohol he hadn't ingested. "This is all your fault. The Alpha's were originally here for you. They came to either recruit your or kill you. The rest of the pack was collateral damage. But that wasn't all, you had to attract Blake's attention. She is your psychotic masquerading girlfriend, the second one you have dated by the way and now my dad is missing and possibly dead because of it."

"I didn't ask for this," Derek spit out.

Stiles shrugged. He could feel his magic rising farther, inching towards his eyes and hands, burning under them. "You also didn't fight to not expose your belly for her either."

"Stiles stop," Lydia said both chastising and placating. "This isn't helping."

"Of course not," Stiles threw up his arms in exasperation. "When does he ever help? When does the pack ever help Lydia?" He looked at her, feeling nearly pleading. It was a valid question. When did they? They weren't there for him when he needed it. They weren't there when he screamed for help. He felt weak then, just as he does now. He feels like he had not come far at all. Months of training, magic tutelage and here he was. Nothing to show for it, but anxiety and anger. Anger at himself and them. It wasn't just anger making it's way to the surface, though. It was all of them, all he has kept bottled up inside, threatening to burst. 

"Stiles you need to calm down," Peter said from the corner, his tone sounding like his father's which made Stiles' inside twist.

Scott nodded, bring attention to him. "Yeah bro. I'm as worried as you are. When mom comes down, we will get out of here and start searching. We will find him."

"Like you all found Erica and Boyd?" Stiles asked looking at each of the betas. Erica and Boyd ducked their heads while the others looked like they were just slapped. Stiles could feel Danny through the bond, trying to comfort him, sending vibes of calm and warmth, but Stiles resisted it. Danny wasn't here right now. He was trying to find Melissa who was in danger. Just like his dad. _God I have to get out of my head!_ "Excuse me for not being confident in any of your abilities."

"What the hell is your problem Stilinski," Jackson asked, stepping closer to him, nearly getting close enough to be a foot from him.

Stiles rounded on the beta, his magic bleeding through his eyes. He never cared for Jackson, despite what he knew about the boy, about his insecurities and his arrogance. He wasn't in the mood to deal with him or his asinine views. "My problem is the inadequacy of this pack. I'm sick and tired of the bullshit!"

"Then you can leave it!" Jackson growled out with a flash of his yellow eyes.

Stiles was momentarily stunned by that. What? Did Jackson just-does he think Stiles was in the pack? There were many things about that one statement that threw Stiles. More of the point that Jackson, the douche asshole jock that he was, might have actually believed Stiles was...pack. That wasn't right.

Before Stiles could speak, Derek spoke for him. "You  _need to calm down_  and take a step back," his voice thrumming with a hint of the Alpha command, which only made Stiles' anger spike again. It was one thing for him to be angry at the pack, it was another to be angry at Derek. The man was a walking conundrum. It was a constant push and pull with him.

"You are not  _my Alpha_ ," Stiles said venomously, earning intakes of breath from everyone, except Peter and Lydia. He felt his eyes flashing, burning. "I am not one of your damn wolves for you to order around. Neither am I part of this pack. You have had more than enough to say on that. You cannot force me to bare my neck to you. As far as I am concerned, I am nothing to you."

There was a few moments of silence, where no one knew how to answer to that. Derek and Stiles glared at one another, both with glowing eyes, both buzzing with tension. Stiles was so, incredibly angry. The odasity of Derek, thinking he could make Stile submit or cower, think twice just by using his Alpha voice. It made Stiles' invisible hackles rise and he nearly pulled back his magic in time before he did something he would regret. It hurt to be near the man right now, it hurt to even hear some of the things he said or the way the pack was looking at him. With both pity and shock. Everyone was afraid of the possibilities they were too late, but right now they were afraid of Stiles. His magic was new to them and still not understood. Stiles knew that feeling, but he had no time to care. It wasn't like they would be around him when all of this was over anyway.

Finally someone spoke up, it was Erica her lips trembling a little, her eyes sad as she said, "What are you saying Stiles? You are pack, of course you are."

Stiles was shaken from his staring contest with Derek, both of them becoming equally rigid at her words. Both for different reasons. "What," he asked her, still taken aback.

"Stiles you are pack. How could you not be," she said quickly, looking at Boyd who nodded, even Isaac nodded shyly beside him. Erica turned back to Derek. "Derek tell him."

When there was silence from the broody Alpha, Stiles flicked his eyes over to him, noticing his still form, like a deer in headlights. Stiles could only imagine what his heart and scent was doing right now. He wondered if the beta's noticed. Did they even know about chemosignals. Scott did, but did the others? Stiles couldn't fight the smile on his face, filled with both sadness and bitterness. 

"Oh...oh this too good," he said rather haughtily. It was more clear now than ever that the betas didn't know. No one did except for Lydia and Peter, who wisely stayed out of this. They knew this was inevitable and now he it was. "They really don't know do they?"

Derek didn't answer. His eyes were hard and unreadable, even as they looked at Stiles. While his betas looked back at him in confusion, Stiles looked at him with disappointment. It seemed that Cora had put it all together, as she too was looking at her brother. The usually quiet girl was now speaking volumes with her eyes. Stiles wondered how much she really knew or how much she put together based on the information she has gathered over the short time she has been with the pack. Peter may have been her biggest source. Derek's jaw tightened, his eyes lowering to the ground.

"Don't know what," Erica asked quickly.

"What is going on," Isaac said next.

Stiles shook his head at the Alpha, even though he didn't seem to notice. "No please," he said to Derek, the sourness of his voice nearly stabbing. "Let me tell them." He didn't wait for Derek's reply, missing the way Derek looked at him with clouded and sorrow filled eyes. "You see guys while you may think my being around the pack means that I am part of it, you are wrong. I am not pack. Probably never was."

"Stiles-" Cora began, avoiding looking at her brother as she tried to deny Stiles' words.

"You're wrong," Erica said, shaking her head.

"Am I," Stiles asks mirthlessly. "Confer with Big Bad Wolf over there. What was it you said that night we saved Jackson, Derek. _'You are not pack, you never will be. Stay away from my pack.'"_  

Everyone's faces turned to Derek. All in various stages of anger, shock, and disbelief. Lydia and Peter being the only ones who didn't have any expression on their face. No emotion, just waiting. Stiles expected Lydia to still be angry and maybe she was, but she kept a lid on it. She has already expressed what she thought, now she waits for the others to do the same.

"What?!"

The collect shouts nearly made Stiles wince. Scott stepped forward, growling at Derek, his eyes flashing. His face was flushed with anger. His crooked jaw was clenched as he worked to reign in his emotions. Scott crowded Derek, pushing into his space, looking up into his face. "How could you do that! What is wrong with you?"

Stiles shook his head as Derek started to growl at Scott, both of their chests rumbling. He didn't want a fight to break out between the two wolves. It would serve no purpose and they had a Darach and Alphas to worry about. They needed to maintain their strength. Fighting over this would no help anything. Plus Stiles didn't want there to be any fighting over him. He wasn't worth it, nor did he believe he deserved it.

"He isn't completely to blame Scott." Stiles said, surprising himself before he could stop the words. His emotions were still so high that he couldn't stop them. He didn't want any fighting, but he was so tired. Tired of all this hiding and bullshit. "I mean given how he was used and betrayed by you to Gerard, it was only right he thought I had known about it. It was a logical reasoning although misguided. Instead of giving me the benefit of the doubt, he condemned me for your actions."

Scott turned to face him, going wide eyed and pale. His mouth gaping like a fish at Stiles' words and his cold tone. Scott looked back at Derek, almost like for confirmation, but Derek wasn't looking at him. He wasn't even looking at anyone. Just at the ground.

"Stiles...I...I didn't-"

"No Scott you didn't. You didn't know, just like Derek didn't know. None of you knew," he said addressing the room. "It wasn't until months later, after I helped find Erica and Boyd, the two people in this room who truly knew what happened to me that night." Erica and Boyd went still, both of their faces going sorrow filled.

"Stiles-"

Stiles cut him off, shaking his head. "We have talked about this Scott. I do not need to hear more excuses or explanations. I have said my peace on what you have done, the consequences of your actions. But, you," he said, looking at Derek now, making the man tense further, raising his green eyes to him. "You are the most experienced out of everyone here, besides Creeper Wolf over there."

Peter snorted but didn't say anything. Derek remained motionless, even as Stiles stepped closer to him. Scott stepped away, looking shamed, not looking away from the floor. Stiles could feel his anger dampen, giving way to a bone deep exhaustion. One that stemmed for months and festered beneath his skin. All those nights of nightmares, coffee, and reading magic books, trying to find Erica and Boyd. All those hours of training with Chris, taking his frustrations and anger out on his body, pushing himself to be better, to be a little more than he was the day before. All of pain and hurt he tried to hide and push so far down that it would disappear, all of it came flooding back to him as he stared at the Alpha. He felt his heart beating hard in his chest and felt the warm sting behind his eyes.

"I asked you to listen to my heart, to see if I was lying and you didn't do it. I was there, bruised and torn apart and no one noticed. No one _cared_. I have planned for this pack of yours, despite our differences, despite our bickering and fighting, I tried for everyone. I fought, I planned, I bled and got beaten for them. I have lied to my dad, broken the law to protect the secrets, gotten rid of evidence. When will it be enough," he asked the man, his voice cracking at the end, before giving an emotionless laugh. "I even learned magic."

This got a few more gasps and 'huh's' from those who didn't know already and who hadn't put the pieces together about what was happening in the room. Lydia made cracked a small smile and Peter's eyes turned sad. Everyone else was frozen with guilt, self-disgust, and sorrow. Even Jackson, although he was hiding it with some bravado. Stiles could feel his magic swirling inside him, trying to comfort, but not knowing what it should do. Act on his emotions or protect him from them.

He shook his head as he looked into Derek’s eyes. Those damn eyes. “You didn’t even tell your pack about this. This whole time, you let them assume it was my choice to remain distant to appease my dad or not get on the Alpha’s radar. Whatever the reason they came up with. You never disproved it. You held your tongue and didn’t say anything even before learning where I truly was.” His eyes were wet now and he was trying hard to hold them back. He wouldn’t let them spill, not here. “You are a coward,” he said instead in a whisper for Derek only. “When it comes to emotions and owning up, you are.”

Licking his lips, he swallowed before speaking in a stronger, harder voice, blinking away the tears.

"I think I have proven myself more than enough times. But no, I am not pack. I am not a beta of any sorts to you. You may not want to thank me for anything and that's fine. At least you will always know that this human saved your ungrateful asses. So you can take that wolf pride and choke on it."

Derek growled, but not threatening, but more in frustration. "You never should have been involved,” he said in a strained voice.

Stiles shrugged. "Too late for that."

"Because of your involvement, your dad is now in danger. It was only a matter of time before he got dragged into this."

Stiles glared at him. "Oh I am well aware of that. But dad has known about this world for longer than I have." He waved away everyone's shocked faces before going on. "I know my dad would be in danger. He is in danger now. He is being threatened to get killed all because of some psychotic bitch who wants power and I am stuck down here waiting to prevent someone else I care about from experiencing the same. Despite my instincts telling me to go out there and search for him!"

"And if you go out there, you'll get yourself killed and then you won't be able to help him at all," Derek hissed.

"Maybe if you hadn't come back to Beacon Hills none of this would have happened," Stiles yelled, making Derek step back. He could feel his eyes burning with his magic, his anger and fear rising again. "Maybe if you never had become the Alpha none of this would be happening. Maybe if Peter wasn't on the murder raged path, Scott wouldn't have been bitten. There is a lot of things that could or should have been."

Derek huffed, his eyes flashing, clenching his fists. "Your whining will not change anything."

"Neither are your choices!" Stiles shouted, the lights flashing again and the tables and desk in the corner shaking. "When are you going to wake up and listen? How much longer are you going to keep  _surviving_? How many more mistakes? How many more snakes are you going to take to your bed? How many more until you lose  _everything_  you care about!?”

“Stiles!”

Stiles hears Lydia's voice before shaking himself from his suffocating state of fear and anger. Looking at her, she looks disappointed, everyone else stunned and shying away from his eyes. Looking back at Derek, he sees something else. A shadow over the man's face. His eyes hollowed and filled with the emotions that Stiles has rarely seen in him breaking forth like a damn all before closing completely, shuttering up behind a wall of stone and steel. Derek lowered his gaze, stock still, breathing deeply through his flared nostrils. If he was angry he didn’t show it. If he was sad he kept it at bay. If he was embarrassed he kept his cool. If he was stricken...he hid it behind his walls.

Stiles realized a little too late about what he had done. What he had said. He didn't even know where all of that came from. He didn't mean for it to come out like that, he didn't mean to let his mouth get away from him. All his anger, his rage, his hurt and sadness, the pain and torment from the months, the guilt and the inadequacy. It all came to a rise, building to the point that Stiles knew was inevitable. He never wanted this though, he didn't want to take it this far.

Sure, the pack had it coming. Scott, Derek, they had it coming from the very night they brushed him away. But it was no excuse. Stiles did more than make them regret that night, he did more than get them to see what he has done for them. He reopened the past, letting it flood into the room in a harsh way. A past that hurt in deeper ways that he had absolutely no right to make them revisit. He knew about Derek's past, probably more than most of the pack, and he never blamed Derek for it. He never let it blacken his view of the man. He never held him responsible. Yet in his rage and pain, in his terror of his missing father, he made a mistake. In his act of throwing their mistakes at them he made a bigger one. He became the  _condemner._

_Oh God._

“I’m sorry,” he said in a breathless whisper, the sound loud in the dead silence. He could feel a tear slide down his cheek, not even realizing they had pooled into his eyes. He made no attempt to stop it. “I’m so sorry.”

It was then, in the quiet of the room, that a buzzing came over the head, followed by a click. It was the intercom, the PA system that worked throughout the hospital. A voice came on the line, male and with a smooth accent.

_"Will the Hale pack please come up to the front desk. Time is precious."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! A new chapter and my favorite out of all of them...so far. I hope you like it. Hugs and Kisses to you all. Let me know what you think! Thank you all for staying with me this far. More to come soon!


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